Anariel of Erudin: Valmoria's Wrath
by A. M. Brossart
Summary: 200 years after the death of King Elessar, Middle-earth is falling to ruin at the hands of men, but young Anariel has bigger problems when she suddenly comes into possession of an evil elf-queen's amulet. With her childhood friend at her side, Anariel soon finds herself in a new alliance of elves and men. Together, can they save Middle-earth, or is it already too late?
1. Playing Pretend

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><p><span>Chapter 1: Playing Pretend<span>

"The enemy forces have attacked the west wall!"

"We can't let them get through!"

"We must defend the castle!"

War cries filled the quiet forest as I charged the enemy with my comrades. Reaching behind my back, I grabbed an invisible arrow from my quiver and, without missing a step, took aim and fired into the forest. "Direct hit!"

Turin raced ahead, slashing through the bushes with the great sword he'd forged himself from the sturdy branches of a mighty oak tree. It was as strong as steel and light as a feather. No enemy stood a chance against it.

"Die orc scum!" he cried while he continued to hack at the vegetation. I quickly came to his aid, firing arrows left and right and never missing a shot because I was the best markswoman in the land.

"We're surrounded!" I yelled as and Turin and I stood back-to-back, our narrow eyes scanning the hideous faces of our enemies. My heart was racing, hungrily feeding off the adrenaline pumping through my veins. There was no greater feeling than the thrill of battle.

"If today should be our last stand, Anariel," Turin said to me, "it has been a pleasure fighting alongside you."

"The pleasure was mine."

At last, we drew our weapons and prepared for what might've been our final battle. We'd fought many wars together during our eight years of life, and if it were to end now, at least we were going to die as heroes. Live by the sword, and die by the sword!

"Turin, Anariel," a meek voice called out, interrupting the intense, dramatic atmosphere. My little sister, Winnie, shuffled along in her baggy dress, dragging her twig of an axe behind her. Then, scrunching up her freckled nose, she whined, "Why do I always have to be the dwarf?"

Groaning, Turin and I dropped our fighting stances. Just when the fight was getting interesting, she had to go and ruin it with her complaining.

"Because you're the shortest," Turin answered, "and you're the only one who complains."

"But I don't like being a dwarf. Why can't I be an elf?"

"Because I'm already an elf," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, "and there can't be two elves."

"But you're always the elf ..."

"Would you rather be an orc?" Turin asked. A smirk grew across his face as he raised his sword and pointed it at her nose. "Then we'd get to hunt you."

"That's not funny, Turin!"

"Who said I was joking?"

"Stop it!" she cried.

Amidst their arguing, a soft melody filled my ears, catching my attention instantly. Hushing everyone around me, I strained my ears to better hear it. The song was beautiful, yet so sorrowful that it made me want to cry.

"What is that?" Turin asked.

Finally, I got a sense of the direction it was coming from. Motioning for everyone to follow, I took off through the woods. It was straight north, deep in the forest, further than we'd ever traveled, further than we were allowed to travel. The splotches of green blurred together as I ran faster and faster, hoping to catch it before it stopped. Gradually, the song started getting louder, clearer, and I could soon make out the voices singing this beautifully sad song just as the green was broken by a dazzling white light, the most incredible sight I'd ever seen.

They'd always fascinated me, the elves. I grew up hearing stories about them, so many stories, but seeing them in person held no comparison. Dressed in white, a long procession of elves walked down the dirt path that cut through the forest, some on horse and others on foot. It was so graceful, like a perfectly choreographed dance.

"Elves," Turin whispered. "Wow!"

"What are they doing?" Winnie asked.

"They're leaving," I realized, feeling my heart grow heavy. "They're traveling to the Undying Lands."

"I heard those are the last of the elves in Middle-earth," Turin explained. "They've grown tired of life here, so they're leaving for good."

The most beautiful beings to ever exist were leaving this land, destined never to return; and what an ugly world it would become in their absence. This was the first and last time I was ever going to see anything so perfect; just the thought brought tears to my eyes.

From atop her horse, an elven woman met my gaze and gave a soft, gentle smile. Gasping, I lowered my eyes, my face flushing with embarrassment. How it must've stung her eyes to be forced to look upon someone so common, so plain. But she was absolutely breathtaking, flawless; her grey eyes twinkled brighter than the stars in the sky.

"I wish they weren't leaving," I said with a frown.

"Speaking of leaving," Winnie interrupted, "we should go back to the village. Mother will be angry if we're late again."

"Let her be angry."

"Anariel, I want to go home!"

I turned toward her and growled, "So go home! Nobody's stopping you!"

Winnie lurched back, fists clenched in anger. "I'm going home!" she declared as she turned and ran back the way we came.

Turin and I stayed long enough to see the last of the elves disappear from view. They were traveling to the Grey Havens, where they would board the great white ships that would take them West. I'd never seen the ships before, but I'd heard them described many times. They sounded amazing.

"Should we follow?" Turin asked, raising his eyebrow.

He already knew my answer.

Laughing together, we raced to catch up to the procession. Our legs were tired and our feet hurt, but neither of us were complaining. This was one of the best days we'd ever had, and we couldn't help but fantasize about the wonderful adventure we were about to embark on.

"We should sneak onto one of the ships!" I suggested excitedly.

"Yes! It'll be our greatest adventure yet!"

But all our plans were put on hold when a tall brown horse blocked our path. Skidding to a stop so fast that Turin nearly smacked into me, I gazed fearfully at the rider, who wore plated armor adorned with the white stag of Erudin, a peaceful animal unless provoked, and we'd provoked this stag. This rider was a soldier of Erudin, one of Father's most trusted guards, in fact, and I knew we were in serious trouble if Father sent him of all his guards. The thick stench of betrayal lingered in the air. Oh, Winnie would pay for her treachery.

"You children should know better than to travel these woods," he said sternly, and I didn't even have time to come up with a good excuse before Turin and I were sent marching back through the forest. The soldier's constant grunts were our source of rhythm, which was occasionally interrupted by a disgusting spitting sound. The entire way there, Turin and I were devising a plan of escape, but we knew we'd never follow through with it. So while I would've loved to have clobbered the guard with a rock and stolen his horse, I wasn't prepared to face the consequences for that, and neither was Turin. Perhaps another day.

Erudin, it must be said, was a very small farming village just west of the Weather Hills, so small that it couldn't be found on any map. I'd always thought Father preferred it that way. After years of adventure, the knight desired peace and quiet above all else. He'd sailed all the great oceans of Arda, discovering new and exciting lands to claim for the king. He'd spent three long, cold years in the Northlands, battling trolls and giants. In the Southlands, he'd seen dragons, real dragons, soaring above the mountain peaks. He'd known such an exciting life in his youth, but now he was happiest sitting at his daughter's beside and retelling all his great adventures.

The Grey Keep atop the hill was gifted to him by the king himself as a reward for all his deeds. It was a modest castle, small and simply built, but it was very sturdy, having stood strong since its construction in the Second Age. Father cared little for luxury, and so he spent hardly anything on the castle's redesign, but that all changed once he married Mother, who came from a very wealthy family. After expanding the main keep to make her more comfortable, he added a garden to the inner courtyard, complete with a grand fountain worth 300 gold pieces. He then constructed a lavishly decorated guest house to accommodate her visiting family, but they never came, not once. Mother sometimes spent her days in there, alone, pretending to have a better life than was bid to her, but her fantasies ended when the debt collectors came; then she had only an empty house to weep in.

She was just leaving the guest house when we passed through the gatehouse. Dressed in a sullen black dress, she crossed the courtyard with all the grace a lady should possess, but her face was as cold as stone, and her eyes were like coal. She'd always been a hard woman, but she was worse when I was in trouble, and I was in trouble a lot.

"Explain yourselves," she ordered.

"Umm ..." I struggled to find the words.

"It's my fault," Turin answered suddenly. "It was my idea to go into the forest."

My jaw fell as I stared at Turin in disbelief. I couldn't let him take all the blame for something I'd contributed to, but before I could speak, Mother ordered me to go inside; then she told the guard to "deal with the boy accordingly," but I couldn't stay long enough to learn his exact fate.

"How many times have I told you not to see that boy?" Mother questioned as she walked behind me.

"Thirty-three," I readily answered.

"Then why won't you listen? That boy should remain in the stables where he belongs. He has no business entertaining sophisticated young ladies, especially no daughter of mine."

"Forgive me, Mother."

She sent me to my room then, the very same room I shared with my traitor of a sister, who was dressed in a fresh change of clothes and sitting lazily on her bed when I arrived. I threw her a glare just as a servant entered the room with a bucket of water and a rag.

"I'm going to kill you for this, Winnie," I said to my sister. "Turin is getting flogged because you can't keep your mouth shut!"

"What was I supposed to do? Mother asked me where you were. I cannot tell a lie."

"Not when it would better serve someone else," I bitterly spat back.

"Close your mouth," the servant said as she began to wipe my face with the warm, wet cloth.

"I hope you're happy now," I went on. "That's the last time I'm going to let you come with us, so don't even bother asking."

The servant gave me a light smack on my rear. "I said, keep your mouth closed, child!"

"I'm sorry, Anariel," Winnie said as she climbed off her bed. "Really, I am."

The servant muttered something under her breath as she grabbed the bucket and exited the room. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I ran and belly-flopped onto my bed, purposefully dirtying it because I knew that servant would later have to clean it. Perhaps I should've gone out to the stables and gathered some manure to wipe on the sheets and worsen her punishment.

"So you liked the elves?" Winnie asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I rose to a sitting position, a bright smile on my face. "Very much. I've never seen anything so incredible."

"Besides me," a voice called from outside as a grinning Turin climbed through our bedroom window and sat himself comfortably on the ledge.

"Turin!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him. "Are you all right? You know, you shouldn't have taken all the blame like that; I could have—"

"But I wanted to," he interrupted, and then he laughed. "Besides, I'm perfectly fine, as you can see. I think your father needs to set a better standard for his guards; they're not as strong as they look."

Sure, he was gloating now and flexing his scrawny biceps proudly, but I could see that his movements were slower, labored, and there was a cut on his lip that continued to bleed no matter how many times he licked it.

"So I was listening to some of the guards talking," Turin went on, "and they said Lord Beriadan of Archet was planning an attack on the Shire."

"Why?" I asked him. "Why attack hobbits?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Men have driven out nearly everyone else. Nobody is safe."

It was true. Father once said, since the death of King Elessar, men had become even more greedy and less respectful to the other inhabitants of the land. It was only a matter of time before there was nobody else left.

"This world is falling apart," Turin said with a sigh.

I nodded my head. "We'll have to save it then."

Turin laughed. "Yes, that's just the job for the Three Great Warriors of Erudin!" Then he looked over at my sister. "That is, if you still want to join us."

Winnie's face lit up. "I'd love to! ... but I don't want to be the dwarf again."

"Too bad," Turin said. "There's no other option."

"Why can't I be a wizard?"

"You're no wizard. You're more of a hobbit," and then Turin broke into a fit of giggles. "Winnie the Hobbit!"

"That's not funny!"

Since Turin wouldn't stop making fun of her, Winnie started crying, so he panicked and quickly climbed out the window just before a servant entered the room, demanding to know what all the fuss was about. Struggling to keep a straight face, I answered, "Nothing!" and once the servant left, I turned toward my sister, who was busy wiping away her tears. "You're such a baby."

"I am not."

"That's why you're the hobbit," I said as I leaned over the window ledge and watched Turin sprint across the courtyard to the stables, where he would remain until nightfall. Once my parents retired, he would climb back up to our room and sleep on the floor. I had to remember to prepare a bed for him, but not until after supper.

Life in Erudin wasn't always great, but we managed to make the best of it. What kept us going was the hope that we would escape one day and have the great adventure that we'd always dreamed of. Of course, that was never going to happen if Winnie continued to sabotage our plans. The traitor would also be dealt with come nightfall.

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	2. A Bride and a Thief

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><p><span>Chapter 2: A Bride and a Thief<span>

I sat beside my bedroom window, taking deep, steady breaths to calm my pounding heart. I must have fumbled around with my fingers at least a dozen times in the last five minutes, always managing to find that one imperfection on my left ring finger. How I wanted to remove it and throw it into the fires of Mount Doom, just as was done with the One Ring. This ring, I believed, was just as dangerous, for it was going to seal my fate forever and enslave me to a horrid man whose only positive trait was his wealth.

"You look beautiful," said Winnie as she entered our bedroom, no longer tripping over the hem of her dress. Why, she was nearly my height now, and so beautiful. Her freckled cheeks were a rosy pink, a constant reminder of her youth, but sometimes she was more mature than I was.

"Thank you," I answered, forcing a smile.

"You're not fooling me," she said with a dry laugh as she walked behind me and began combing through my hair with her fingers. "I know you're upset with Mother's arrangement. I am too."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

She released my hair. "Now, that's not the Anariel I know. Why, I'm surprised you haven't planned your escape by now."

"There is no escape, Winnie. I can't run from this. By this time tomorrow, my life will never be the same again."

"Not if I can help it." Turin suddenly popped his head in through the window. "Oh, Ana, I hate seeing you so depressed. We can still run away together, you know."

Winnie giggled as Turin climbed inside and hopped over me, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He paused for a second, making sure he hadn't been heard, and then proceeded to scold me. "I can't believe you're actually going through with this wedding. What happened to the girl who wanted to fight orcs, explore the Mines of Moria, and marry an elven prince?"

"She grew up," I answered, rising from my chair. "Those days are over now, Turin. Just look at the world around us."

In just eight short years, Middle-earth had fallen into darkness. While Lord Beriadan of Archet was unable to successfully take over the Shire with his first attack, he launched a second six years later, driving all the hobbits from their homes and forcing them into the mountains. Just last year, a hunting party slaughtered a settlement of dwarves for no reason at all. As for the elves, well, it was as if they'd never even existed.

"We can still change all that," Turin said, walking over to me. "It's not over yet."

"But it is." I sighed and fell back onto my chair. "It's all over."

He walked around me, and then he leaned in and whispered gently into my ear, "Then how about one last adventure? There's a place you must see. I know you'll love it."

I pulled away and looked at him with narrow, skeptical eyes. "What place?"

"You'll have to wait and see. Interested?"

I nodded my head, wondering what he'd discovered. He smirked and leapt onto the window ledge. "I'll get the horse," he called as he disappeared from sight.

Quickly, I got up from my chair, grabbed my cloak, and started toward the door, but Winnie stopped me, as she always did. "You're actually going? But we must leave soon, and you know how Mother is."

"I have enough time. I'll be back long before we depart."

Before she could delay me any further, I ran downstairs, bolted out the door, and raced to the gate. As soon as the guards saw me, they took on a very defensive stance. They always knew to be on alert when I came lurking around.

"Help!" I said, acting quickly. "I've lost my betrothal ring. You must help me find it."

The guards looked at each other and then stepped away from the gate, closely examining the ground around them. One guard was practically crawling on all fours, while the other was almost halfway across the courtyard.

"Where did last you see it, m'lady?"

"Umm ... I'm not sure," I said as I slowly backed up toward the gate. "It must be here somewhere." Quickly, I passed through and came out the other side.

"M'lady, I don't see it—Huh? M'lady!"

I raced down the hill, kicking up dirt and rocks with my feet. Without a doubt, my dress was already ruined, and Mother was going to throw a fit once she saw it, but all my worries faded away once I saw Turin waiting at the bottom with Faelon, my favorite horse.

"Took you long enough," he commented with a smirk, offering me his arm for support as I climbed onto the horse with him.

"Oh, be quiet," I said, throwing my arms around his waist. "It's not easy to escape the fortress, you know."

"You simply lack the skill," he replied with a laugh, and then he took off toward the forest.

About halfway there, I rested my head against his back and closed my eyes. It was sad to think this was probably the last time I was ever going to see him, my best friend. I couldn't remember a day in my life that didn't involve him, and I didn't want to either. He meant the world to me, and I wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet.

"Look, Ana," Turin said, nudging me gently.

Peeking over his shoulder, I saw, hidden within the trees, an ancient stone structure that was so overcome by moss and vine that it was almost indistinguishable from the forest. It might've once been grand, maybe even a palace, but now it was just ruin.

"What is it? An abandoned palace?"

"Not just any palace," he corrected. "This was an elven palace."

My eyes widened in disbelief. "You're joking."

Turin laughed and hopped off the horse. "Not at all." Then he held his arms out to me, waiting for me to jump as well. Wasting no time, I jumped and landed gently in his arms.

"This was a real elven palace?" I questioned, looking him square in the eye.

He nodded his head. "Come, it gets better."

Taking my hand, he led me up the stone staircase and entered what once might've served as the great hall, a place adorned with statues of elven men and women, some of which were broken, while others remained perfectly intact. I stopped for a moment to run my fingers along the perfectly smooth face of the elven man. It was as close as I was ever going to get to the real thing.

"Anariel, come here."

I joined Turin at the end of the room, stopping in front of a small door. Hurriedly, he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. "Turin, what is—" My jaw dropped as soon as the first jewel caught my eye. Moving forward, I scanned the entire room with wide eyes, gladly allowing all the new sensations to overwhelm me. Plates, goblets, vases, all that I could've ever imagined were in this room, and they were more beautiful than anything my family owned.

"This is incredible."

Just as those words left my mouth, I noticed a small stone chest sitting on top of the table at the far end of the room, hidden amongst an array of fine crystal sculptures. While the chest itself was nothing special, it seemed to be drawing me in; I simply couldn't stay away. The call of the chest drowned out even Turin's voice as I slowly approached it, my feet moving completely on their own. Slowly, my hands reached out and lifted the lid, revealing a dazzling ruby pendant strung on a golden chain.

"Anariel, we should return to the village," Turin said.

"You're right," I answered, my eyes never leaving the jewel.

Once we'd returned, Turin helped me off the horse and then said to me, "This doesn't have to be our last adventure, you know. We can run away right now, leave this village and never come back."

I gave a sad smile. "I wish I could, Turin."

"Well, I could always come rescue you. Just say the word, and I'll be there."

I managed a laugh despite the tears forming in my eyes. "I'll keep that mind," I said and kissed his cheek. "You'll always be my best friend, always."

"Warriors to the end," he declared as he took my hand, held it gently in his for a moment, and then placed a soft kiss upon it. "Goodbye, Anariel. It has been a pleasure fighting alongside you."

"The pleasure was mine," I said as I drew my hand back. "Goodbye, Turin."

As I passed through the gate, I was immediately met by Mother, who'd probably been pacing the garden since I'd disappeared. She was wearing one of her best dresses and worst faces. I was beginning to think she had only two expressions: anger and indifference.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"I-I was in the forest," I answered, and when that horrifying glint began to form in her eyes, I quickly added, "I was practicing my vows. I want them to be perfect for tomorrow."

Then her anger melted and hardened to a look of mild interest. "Oh?"

I nodded my head. "I know how important this marriage is for our family."

"It is of great importance." She straightened herself. "Go inside and get ready. We shall be leaving shortly."

"Yes, Mother."

I knew it was best to walk very slowly, almost stiffly, when in my mother's presence. "Hold your head high, stand tall, shoulders back, and never look at the ground," she'd always told me. During my first years, I tripped many times, but now I was a master. Of course, that didn't stop me from dropping the formal posture once I'd escaped her view. Immediately, my shoulders slouched as I raced up the stairs, allowing my eyes to look wherever they pleased.

"Was it everything you hoped it would be?" Winnie asked from her bed as I entered our bedroom.

"Everything and more," I replied with a smile so large that it could've easily cracked my face, and I wouldn't have even cared. Dropping my cloak to the ground, I approached the mirror and began smoothing out my hair and dress.

"Anariel, what is that?" Winnie asked as she rose up to her elbows, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed.

"What's what?"

"That necklace. Where did you get it?"

My fingers found the ruby gemstone dangling around my neck, and I spent a few seconds debating whether or not to tell her the truth. I didn't want my little sister to think poorly of me; I felt enough guilt already. I knew better than to take things that didn't belong to me, but I couldn't help it. The necklace was so beautiful, and it was just sitting there, so I had to take it, but I couldn't tell my sister that.

"Mother gave it to me," I lied, "as a wedding gift."

"Oh," she said as she slid off the bed and approached me. "I had no idea Mother owned a jewel of such value."

"Neither did I."

Winnie smiled. "Will you wear it for the ceremony tomorrow? It would look beautiful with your dress."

I nodded my head. "It would, wouldn't it?"

A servant soon entered the room, informing us that it was time to depart. Turin was just bringing out Faelon when we arrived outside. As one of the other stablehands helped Winnie mount her horse, I went straight to Turin, who stood still with a smile reflecting only in his green eyes. Standing straight, composed, I held my hand out for him to take, being careful not to share even the briefest glance, for I knew Mother was watching closely from her horse. Upon mounting Faelon, I went to pull my hand away, but his grip remained just strong enough to trap my hand. I had no choice but to steal a glimpse. Giving a faint smile, he slowly drew his hand back, letting his fingers brush against mine until the very tips had escaped him.

"You, boy," Mother said sternly, "you should know better than to look upon a lady in such a disrespectful manner."

"Yes, m'lady," he answered, his eyes never leaving mine. I knew what he was really saying, but my answer was still the same. Running away wasn't going to solve anything; it would only get him killed, and that I could never bear, so I left him there and rode away with my family, never once looking back.

After a day's ride, we finally arrived in Archet. The city banner was raised high and flickering in the wind: a red fox running through a field of gold, holding in its tail a sharp dagger to stab its enemies in the back, a fitting emblem for the lord of Archet. Lord Beriadan and Lady Sidhiel, along with many of their servants, were waiting to greet us on the other side of the gate. The two of them were foreign to me; I'd met them only once, the day when my betrothal to their son was announced. They weren't the kind of people I wanted to become familiar with. Although relatively powerless beyond their city borders, they insisted on being treated like royalty. The attack on the Shire was just another one of Lord Beriadan's attempts to establish himself as a dominant force, that sly fox.

Lady Sidhiel came to us with a warm smile on her face. "At last, you have arrived. I hope your travel was not too troublesome."

"Not at all," Mother replied as she was escorted down from her horse. "The weather was favorable."

"I am glad." Then she set her eyes upon me. "Oh, Anariel. Come, let me have a look at you."

I hesitantly approached her, allowing her to take my hands in hers.

"My, you grow more beautiful by the day," she praised. "Please, you must excuse my son for not being present tonight. He insisted on retiring early to ensure his best health for tomorrow. I am sure you understand."

"Of course."

She smiled. "You must be tired. I will have a servant show you to your room."

"Thank you, my lady."

A young servant brought me to my room, which overlooked the orchard. With her eyes glued to the ground, she muttered something I couldn't comprehend and scurried out, leaving me to my prison. Finally alone, I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands, weeping at my own misfortune.

And that night, as I grasped the ruby pendant, I made a silent plea to whoever would listen, praying that Beinion of Archet would be stuck with a grave illness before the sun rose in the sky tomorrow.

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	3. The Long Walk

**Here's chapter three!**

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><p><span>Chapter 3: The Long Walk<span>

The sun rose in a cloudless sky, the day of the wedding had arrived, and Lord Beinion was feeling better than ever. One of the servants came to deliver the happy news herself. As soon as she left, I ran to the window and seriously contemplated taking the long jump. Only with my body strewn across the ground would I be freed from this nightmare, but I lacked the courage to end my own life, so I just sat by the window, gazing down at the orchard with a sense of longing, for it was within my family's orchard that I first met Turin almost ten years ago. I could still remember the day perfectly.

I was six then, rambunctious and highly opinionated, and Father had just finished telling me the story of the Fellowship of the Ring. It was the first time I'd ever heard of men, hobbits, dwarves, and elves working together. The elf in the story quickly became my favorite, and although Father never provided a physical description, I knew exactly what he looked like: tall and fair, like all elves, with long, dark hair and eyes the color of the sky before a storm. When I'd asked what happened to that elf, Father said he wasn't certain, but he probably left for the Undying Lands like all the other elves. That was when I experienced my first real moment of heartbreak.

Regardless, his stories had a huge impact on me. I couldn't count the number of days I spent hiding from the servants, pretending they were child-eating orcs who'd come to take me away from my parents. It was during one of these episodes that I ran into the orchard because the orcs were chasing after me yet again. To defend myself, I began snatching apples from the trees and chucking them at my attackers.

"Lady Anariel, please stop!"

"Those apples haven't yet ripened!"

"The better to kill you with!" I cried, throwing a green apple that the fat orc just barely managed to dodge.

Thirteen apples later, the orcs abandoned their attack and returned to the keep. At last, I was alone—or so I thought. Behind me, I could hear a loud munching sound, and my immediate thought was that a hungry orc was feasting on one of the servants, probably the fat one because she was the slowest. But it would be coming for me next! I took a step back just as something thudded against the ground—a dead body perhaps—and then, from beneath a tree, a half-bitten apple rolled out.

_An apple-eating orc_, I realized. _They're the most dangerous kind!_

A hand suddenly shot out from beneath the tree—a human hand—and snatched the apple. I'd been duped! This was no orc, just a hungry thief. As the young lady of the house, it was my job to alert the guards when such an incident occurred, but my mind was so consumed by action and adventure that I decided I was going to handle him myself. Holding my head high, chest puffed out just as the guards did when in Father's presence, I marched forward to the scene of the crime. The thief was still in the area, stuffing his face with apples from our trees. He was smaller than I thought he'd be, scrawnier too; in fact, he looked no older than I was.

"You, thief, these trees belong to Lord Authion."

The boy just stared at me with a blank expression as he took another bite of his apple, chewed, and swallowed. I was being mocked in my own orchard by a petty thief!

My eyes widened. "I said, you are stealing from my father, Lord Authion of Erudin. As a lady of this house, I demand you stop this at once!"

He took yet another bite, chewing louder than necessary. Enraged, I screamed and tackled him to the ground, and all that coward of a thief could do was flail around and scream for me to get off him, but I wasn't finished just yet. Not only had he stolen from my family, but he'd also insulted me, and that was a crime punishable by death.

"I shall teach you respect, thief!"

Suddenly, I heard voices from outside the orchard. The guards had heard us fighting and were quickly approaching. At last, justice would be served! But when I looked down at the boy, I saw a look of pure terror, a look I'd never seen before, and all I wanted to do was make it go away.

"Stay here," I said as I climbed off him. "Don't make a sound."

Leaving the boy on the ground, I ran out of the orchard, catching the attention of the three guards outside. "Help!" I cried, grabbing the hand of the guard nearest to me and pulling him along. "Orcs are attacking the village! We must warn Father at once! Come, come!"

The two other guards stopped and looked at each other.

"What is she going on about?"

"Ah, the little lady has an overactive imagination. Pay no mind to her."

My act had distracted the guards long enough for the boy to escape, but that certainly wasn't the last time we would cross paths. I saw him almost every day after that, usually by my own will. He had many stories to share, and his dreams were the same as my own: to leave this village for a life of adventure.

And how I'd betrayed him now. He offered me freedom, and I turned him away. Would he forgive me, my dearest friend?

A loud knock to the door made me rise from my chair. "C-Come in."

Naturally, I assumed it was a servant who'd come to bring in my dress, so when I saw Beinion on the other side of the door, I was most shocked. I, still in my undergarments, was being presented to my future husband. What would he think? Worst yet, what would Mother think? Stumbling over my chair, I rushed to the bed and grabbed my robe.

"Forgive me, my lord, I wasn't expecting you," I said as I closed the robe around me. "Why've you come? You know it's improper to see the bride before the wedding."

"Yes, I know," he said as he approached me very slowly, and I suddenly felt like the boar in a hunt, trapped, defenseless, "but I will do as I please."

A sickening feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be here, and we weren't supposed to be like this, but I could do nothing about it. Beinion was already exerting his power over me, and I felt completely helpless.

"Please, my lord, I must get ready," I said, but he kept coming forward, stopping less than a foot away from me. He then raised his hand and took a lock of my dark brown hair between his fingers.

"You are very beautiful, Anariel," he said as he twirled my hair around his finger, "but I have heard stories of your disobedience. You have a fiery spirit that needs to be smothered before you can become an honorable wife."

"I'm afraid you'll be left disappointed then," I replied, my eyes hardening. "I change for no one, least of all you."

He released my hair and smirked. "We shall see, won't we?" Then he gave his back to me and started walking away, stopping only once to say, "By the way, I've gone into negations with my father. We are to be given control of the newly-claimed territory to the west. Now, what was it called ... ?"

"... The Shire," I answered, my heart sinking.

"Ah, yes, the Shire. You're fond of hobbits and those folk, aren't you? Well, it should please you to know that we have enslaved many, and they shall be happily working in our keep." With that, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I collapsed onto the bed, feeling the tears burning in my eyes. I was going to rule over lands soaked with blood, the blood of hobbits no less. If I'd known this was going to happen, I would've never agreed to this marriage.

"Turin, please," I cried softly, "I can't do this alone."

But he wasn't going to come. Nobody was going to come. For the first time, I was all alone.

I'd managed to wipe away my tears before Mother entered the room with my wedding dress. For the first time in my life, I saw a smile on her face, a genuine, happy smile, as if her entire life had been leading up to this one moment. Was she truly happy for me? No, I knew this was all about power and prestige. I, the humble daughter of a poor village lord, was about to marry the son of a wealthy noble who had miles of land to his name as well as an active voice in the royal court. Deep down, so deep that she would never speak of it unless she'd taken too much wine, she hoped I would one day see the throne. And she thought I was a dreamer.

"It fits you beautifully," Mother said as she pulled my hair back behind my shoulders. "I cannot believe this is finally happening. My daughter is marrying into a great, wealthy family. Why, this is more than I could have hoped for." Then her fingers found the chain of my necklace. "Anariel, what's this?" she asked, drawing out her words as if she was pulling the chain from my neck.

"It was a gift," I said, clasping the ruby just in case she tried to act on her thoughts, "from Lady Sidhiel."

"Oh, how generous of her to give a gift of such great value," she replied, releasing the chain, but her eyes remained on the gem's reflection in the mirror. "I suppose you will come to possess many fine jewels in the future, won't you?"

"Yes, it's possible."

"If only we were all so lucky." Then she turned and started toward the door. "Remember to stand tall when you are presented. Don't slouch. This is the most important day of your life, so you should radiate elegance."

"Yes, Mother."

As soon as the door shut, I hunched my shoulders so deeply that I nearly folded in half. I would've gone further, but the dress was hindering my movements. The rest of the dress was long, loose, and flowing, but the bodice was so tight that I could barely breathe. I'd had a fitting just last week, and it wasn't nearly as tight then. Perhaps this was part of her plan, to suffocate me so that I couldn't get enough oxygen to my brain and realize what a horrible decision I was making.

I just couldn't take it!

Going to the small writing desk by the window, I searched through the drawers for something sharp, anything sharp, and eventually found a small paper knife. Wasting no time, I placed the blade above the bodice.

"Anariel, no!" Winnie screamed as she ripped the knife out of my hand and threw it onto the desk. I would've gasped if I'd had the breath.

Winnie grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face her. "I know you think this is the end, Anariel, but it's not! It's only a marriage; it's not worth your life!"

My right eyebrow twitched. "What are you talking about?"

Her horrified expression faded to one of confusion. "Well, you were going to kill yourself with that paper knife, weren't you?"

"It was for the dress."

"The dress?" Her eyes fell to the bodice of my dress. "Oh," she said with a sheepish smile, "forgive me."

"You're forgiven. Now, give me back that knife before I faint."

Returning to the desk, she grabbed the knife and, instead of placing it in my hand, tossed it back into the drawer.

My eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"You can't cut the dress. It's Mother's most prized possession."

"Then let her wear it!" I said as I pushed her aside and dug into the drawer. My finger had just grazed the knife when she suddenly pulled me away. "Winnie, I need to get out of this dress!"

"It's a family heirloom; I cannot let you destroy it. Besides, the ceremony is about to begin, and I'm supposed to bring you down to Father. What would he think if he saw you in a ripped wedding dress?"

"He would think nothing of it at all," a man declared from the doorway.

We both looked up at Father, who seemed to take up the entire door frame. Years had passed, yet he seemed to be frozen in time, just as he looked when I was young: strong, brown-bearded, with eyes the color of walnuts, eyes my sister and I had inherited. How I loved his eyes, always so warm and alive despite the wrinkles forming at the edges. His eyes lit up like fire whenever he told me stories of his travels, and when I watched them, I felt like I was going on the journey with him somehow. If I was still a child, I would have ran to him, thrown my arms around his legs, and cried and cried until he brought me home again. Now, I could only conceal my sadness with a smile.

"Winnie, go on downstairs," he said as he entered the room. "The ceremony will start soon."

"Yes, Father," Winnie muttered as she quietly walked past him and exited the room.

"The time has come, my daughter," he said, extending his hand out for me to take. My hand was shaking as I placed it in his, and although I knew he noticed, he didn't say anything.

I couldn't remember much after that moment; it all became a bit of a blur. I couldn't feel the stone beneath my feet, or smell the flowers that lined the walls, or hear the music playing in the great hall; I could only picture Beinion standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in his best robes, his face cleanly shaven, his light brown hair perfectly groomed, not a curl out of place. He would be smiling, pleased with himself because he'd finally won, that wretched young fox. I would become his: his woman, his slave, his property. I would never see my family again, or Turin. What would become of him in my absence? What would become of Winnie?

"We can turn back now if it would please you," Father said, breaking my thoughts.

"What?"

"A father can tell when his daughter is unhappy," he replied, coming to a stop. "I will not force you to go through with this. We can leave now if you wish."

I took as deep of a breath as I could. "No wedding?"

"No wedding."

"And we'll return home?"

He nodded his head. "Just say the word."

And there it was. Just like when I was a child, Father was offering me an escape from all my fears. But I wasn't a child anymore, and I couldn't keep running away from all my problems. The wedding had already been decided, and if I were to back out now, it would tarnish my family's reputation and destroy our livelihood. This wasn't just about me anymore.

"Come, we're delaying the ceremony," I said, pulling him along with me.

Like most girls, I'd fantasized about my perfect wedding, but this was far from that dream. My perfect wedding was small, simple, and quiet, but this one was being treated like a grand festival. The hall was packed with people dressed in their finest clothes, their eyes glued on me, some smiling and others scowling. Most scowls were out of jealousy because nearly every mother in the neighboring lands wanted her daughter to marry Beinion. It was very rare to find a lord who was as handsome as he was powerful. I wondered, just for a moment, what would happen if I suddenly offered up my position. Why, there would be absolute pandemonium as all the desperate mothers charged down the aisle with their daughters.

Sure, I could joke now, but as I found myself quickly approaching Beinion, the atmosphere in my mind turned somber and my grip on Father's arm tightened, but I knew I would have to release him soon. I gave a sharp glance to my left, where Mother stood with a proud smile, but even her biggest, brightest smile couldn't overshadow the look on Winnie's face. It was as if she was watching an execution.

When I turned back, I was met by Beinion's hand; pale, smooth, without even the slightest imperfection, this was the hand of a man who hadn't seen a single day's work in his life. My rough, calloused hand would likely scratch his porcelain skin. Slowly, I moved my hand forward, and as my right hand neared his, I could feel my left arm leaving my father, leaving my family forever. I lingered within the in-between, contemplating my fate, until Beinion grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the stone step with him. His father stood at the top of the platform, ready to direct the ceremony.

I couldn't hear most of what Lord Beriadan was saying during his opening address; my thoughts were far too loud. It had something to do with the importance of marriage, but what did he know about the importance of marriage? What did anyone here know about it?

"Will you, Anariel, daughter of Authion, take Beinion of Archet to be your wedded husband? Will you promise to obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

The hall was silent as I fought over my answer. I could feel every single eye in the room burning into the back of my head, and quietly, barely above the sound of a whisper, Mother was saying, "Just say, 'I will.' Just say it!" If I waited too long, she was going to storm up the steps and force the words out of me. Still, I continued to bide my time.

_Obey him ... and serve him._

"Anariel," Beinion said, trying to maintain his calm demeanor, "now is when you are supposed to say, 'I will.'"

I bit down on my dry lips, preparing to say the words that would forever seal my fate. "I ... I ..."

Suddenly, as if by some divine intervention, the large doors flew open, and a guard stumbled into the hall, his eyes wide with terror, lips quivering as he relayed his message for all to hear:

"Sire ... orcs ... in the city!"

"What?" Lord Beriadan exclaimed as he descended the stairs. "That is impossible!"

"What I say is the truth! They came all at once, hundreds of them! I—"

With a small cry, the guard fell to the ground, dead, an arrow protruding from his back. The archer, a horribly terrifying orc, leapt onto the dead guard's back, ripped out the arrow, and then stopped and scanned the entire room, his eyes flickering to every corner.

Everybody was silent, still, too frightened to move even the slightest. We'd all heard of orcs, of course, but none of us had ever seen one, not while we were safely hidden in our castles, sheltered from the dangers of the outside world. We were trapped behind walls of ignorance, and now they'd just been torn down. Nobody was ready to face the real world, but whether we were ready or not, it was coming. They were coming.

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	4. Wedding Crashers

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p><span>Chapter 4: Wedding Crashers<span>

The hall erupted into utter turmoil as the army of orcs invaded the hall, and they were met with no resistance. Nobody knew what to do, save for the few soldiers who tried to fight them off, but most were completely helpless, reduced to screaming children who could only run away. Beinion, my brave fox, was one of the first to flee the scene, and his father and mother soon followed suit with their personal guards leading the way. And what of his bride? I stood on top of the stairs, alone, overlooking the massive slaughter.

I'd dreamt of moments like this, when I would be forced to fight for my life against the horrible beasts known as orcs. In my dreams, I was brave and powerful, slaying many with my great sword and bow. Those were just dreams, though, fantasies, and this was reality. I'd never fought an orc before; in fact, I'd never even seen one. What was I, a mere girl of sixteen, supposed to do at a time like this?

"Anariel, come!" I heard Father say as he grasped my hand and pulled me down the stairs. With his left hand, he held on to Winnie, who looked even more afraid than I was. Mother was somewhere ahead of him; I could vaguely make out the color of her dress in the crowd as she rushed forward, twisting and bending around the frightened people. I didn't know where we were going, but at least I was with my family, and that alone brought me much comfort.

Everybody was running for their lives, leaving no room for the consideration of others. People were pushing and shoving each other to get ahead, and men were sacrificing their own wives, throwing them toward the orcs, so they would have a better chance of escape. It was hard to distinguish the fallen from the corpses that were scattered across the hall floor. I saw a woman lying face-first on the ground, her hands over her head, being viciously trampled by the panicked stampede. That was the last I saw of her before she was suddenly pulled across the floor, but her screams couldn't even be heard over the roar of the crowd.

"Anariel!" Winnie cried as she slipped and fell, immediately becoming lost in the sea of people. From there, my instincts took over, and I pulled my hand from Father's and turned back for her, instantly meeting a wall of resistance that I had to fight through. I could hear Father screaming my name, but I couldn't turn back, not while Winnie was out there. I met each shove with equal force, becoming more aggressive each time. With all the adrenaline pumping through me, I felt like a cave-troll barreling through the blockade, knocking people aside left and right until I came across Winnie, who was lying on the ground, her dress torn and scrapes all over her body. Quickly, I bent down, scooped her up from the ground, and pulled her along with me as I made my way toward a small passage that I'd seen earlier.

"Come, Winnie," I said, trying to get her to move faster. Her feet were lagging behind, and she wouldn't stop crying.

"But Mother and Father—"

"I know, but we must keep going!"

The passage was dark, narrow, and had likely been traveled several times before us, maybe even by orcs. All I could do was hope it would bring us somewhere safe because I really had no other choice. By now, Winnie had caught my pace and was running alongside me as quickly as her legs would allow. The sounds of the slaughter behind us only made us run faster.

Halfway through the passage, we met a soldier who was running in the opposite direction. He was running to help his comrades, but when he saw us, he abandoned his duties and swore to protect us. A true knight. Running behind him, we continued toward the exit. Right away, I could tell he was a good, strong warrior, for he carried with him a sword that had already been stained with black orc blood. Why, he'd probably already killed hundreds of them before stumbling across us. Our savior was truly great.

The passage led to the light of midday and the stench of manure. From there, the soldier brought us straight to the stables, where I knew we would mount strong, fast horses and ride away from the city. He ran inside as Winnie and I stopped to catch our breaths.

"What's happening?" she cried, resting her hands on her knees for support.

I honestly didn't know; I couldn't understand it either. There hadn't been an orc attack in years, long before I was even born. We'd been told that most of them had died off, but obviously those were all lies. But why here? Why Archet of all places? Why not Edoras, Minas Tirith, or Annúminas? This wasteland was nothing compared to those great cities.

"I wanna go home," Winnie said.

"We don't even know if home is safe, Winnie."

"What are you saying?"

"This couldn't have been an isolated incident, and Erudin isn't far from here. Something bad is happening, Winnie, I can feel it. Even the air doesn't feel the same."

"But what—"

I clasped my hand over Winnie's quivering lips, for in the distance, faint but quickly growing, I could hear the sounds of orcs as they left the castle. Their stomps, their grunts, their growls, they all thundered in my ear worse than any storm. Pulling her along with me, I quietly ran for the stables, thinking everything would be all right if we could just make it back to the soldier. He would help us; he would save us.

As soon as we entered, though, Winnie let out a loud shriek before I could silence her. Lying in the middle of the stable was our savior, his cold, lifeless hand still clutching his great sword as he soaked in his own blood. Once again, I found my hand clamped over Winnie's mouth, our brown eyes meeting in a wide, terrified stare.

"We must reach Faelon," I whispered, receiving a nod in return. My hand went from her mouth to her shoulder as I guided her toward Faelon's stall, both of us too scared to move more than one step at a time. Each time my foot hit the ground, my eyes darted to the darkest corners of the building, expecting to see one of the hungry orcs I'd always feared as a child. I felt just like I did back then, only this time it wasn't just the servants I was running from. No, this was real danger.

As soon as we reached Faelon, I remembered something and immediately pulled back.

"What are you doing?" Winnie asked.

"I must retrieve something," I answered as I rushed out of the stall and returned to the soldier's body. Winnie was whispering for me to hurry back, but I couldn't yet, not without his sword. As I reached my fingers toward the hilt, Winnie's whispers turned into screams. I barely had time to react before a hand took hold of my hair and pulled me back with such force that it could've easily ripped my hair from my scalp. If Winnie was still screaming, I certainly couldn't hear her; all I could hear was the orc's deep, rugged breathing behind me as he pressed his body into mine, his skin rough like a lizard's. Then he forced me up from the ground, turned my head around, and I finally saw the face of the creature from my nightmares.

My fantasies were much kinder to him, granting him a softer appearance. This orc was a beast no nightmare could conjure up. His eyes were like fire, and his teeth were sharp enough to tear the flesh clean off a man's bones, but all other features were hardly recognizable beneath his folds of pierced, wrinkled brown skin.

"Little girls are so innocent," he said in a raspy voice, extending a hand stained with dirt and blood toward my face. I shivered as his finger grazed my skin, inching dangerously close to my lips. "It makes this so much more enjoyable."

As soon as his finger reached my mouth, I sprung forward, clenched my jaws around the small appendage, and bit down as hard as I could. The orc roared as he ripped his hand from my mouth and threw me roughly to the ground. Crawling away on my hands and knees, I started spitting the remaining bits of flesh from my mouth, but still the putrid taste remained.

I was right on top of the soldier's body, his blood staining my white dress, when I felt the orc on me once more. His hands were on my legs, trying to pull me back, but I fought him with all my might, kicking and pulling with all the strength I could muster. My strength, however, was nothing compared to his. He could've caught me with just one arm, but he was toying with me, prolonging my death for his own amusement. I knew this was only temporary, though, and soon his patience would run out.

And then it finally did. Grabbing my shoulders, he forced me onto my back, bringing me back to those terrifying eyes. Then he began to draw his blade, still wet with the soldier's blood, and raised it above his head, preparing to strike. My left hand was on the ground, searching through the dirt for a miracle, and it finally found the soldier's sword.

"First, I'll cut off your head," the orc said before turning his attention to Winnie. "Then I'll hack her up, slowly, one appendage at a time."

"Anariel!"

My fingers wrapped around the hilt, and just before the orc dealt his final blow, I rose from the ground, took the sword in both hands, and thrust it through his leather chest armor. Now, I'd always thought a sword would go through an orc's body smoothly—it would just slide right through—but this was quite tough, requiring several more thrusts to finish the job. Finally, the orc fell forward, allowing gravity to take over, and I rolled out of the way just before he collapsed to the ground. Then I just stood there for a while, staring down at the orc I'd slain, partially because I feared he wasn't dead, but also because I was astonished by what I'd just done. I'd actually killed another living creature, an orc no less. I could barely kill an insect, yet there I was with my sword sticking through the chest of an orc. Drawing out my sword, I grimaced when the orc's black blood began gushing out from the open wound, but then that too became eerily fascinating.

"Anariel, we should go," Winnie said in a shaky voice, breaking my trance. "We should go now!"

My head snapped toward the entrance, where in the distance I could see the rest of the orcs quickly approaching. I panicked then and ran for Faelon, somehow managing to drop my sword along the way; it just slipped out of my fingers. Swordless and utterly defenseless, we raced out of the stables and headed toward Chetwood, hoping to find safety in the dense forest.

But we weren't the only ones who'd sought Chetwood, for just outside it waited a small band of orcs. I considered them small only in comparison to the large army I'd seen earlier, but they were just as intimidating to me because I could not slay eight orcs alone, especially without a weapon. What were we, two defenseless young girls, supposed to do? Try to fight? Run away? Well, those weren't even options because the orcs already had us surrounded. We were sitting prey.

Winnie clutched my arm as the orcs tightened their circle around us, some grunting, others voicing their desires for attack. I'd heard one talking about taking us alive as slaves, and that was a fate I just couldn't accept. Another spoke of sparing me and killing Winnie, while others favored the opposite. Never before had I so hated being a woman.

I tried to act tough though, as if I was some sort of a threat. My act wasn't fooling anyone; they could see right through it, and they knew I would not be able to stop them from ripping us from Faelon. And so they did. With their rough, dirty hands they took us, Winnie first and then me. They kept us together for a while as they decided what to do with us, and the entire time Winnie's hand never left mine.

Then I made a decision.

"Take me," I said, stepping forward. "Take me and spare her. You can do whatever you like with me, but let her go."

"Anariel, no!"

I stood tall, ignoring Winnie's cries, as the orc who I assumed to be the leader stepped forward. He was slightly taller and uglier than the orc I'd faced earlier, and he carried a long, sharp blade that was caked with blood. All my confidence seemed to fizzle out as soon as he came toward me.

"Please," I said weakly. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" he repeated, his voice deep and terrifying.

I nodded my head. "Anything."

He was silent for a moment, hopefully debating my offer, and then he finally turned toward his men, who were eagerly awaiting his decision; some were even licking their lips with anticipation.

"Take the dark-haired one alive," he said, walking past the group. "Death for the other."

My eyes widened as an orc took my arms and started roughly pulling me away while the others slowly crept toward Winnie, who continued to scream my name even when I was far from her reach. I was screaming too as I tried to break free from my captor, kicking my legs frantically and thrashing back and forth like a wild animal. Then the leader came toward me, and I briefly caught sight of his sword just before I felt the blow to the back of my head. The ground came rushing fast, but I could barely feel it beneath me. Despite the ringing in my ears and my blurred vision, I still tried to save my little sister, reduced to some pathetic insect crawling on the ground.

"Die orc scum!" came a familiar voice resembling a battle cry.

It was like I was eight years old again, caught on the battlefield when all appeared to be lost. His voice was just the same, though deeper now. He appeared on a black horse, majestic like some heroic character from one of Father's stories, and in his hand he carried a mighty sword forged not from wood but steel; and he wielded that sword with the expertise of a noble warrior, cutting down orc after orc with a single strike. He saved the leader for last, lopping off his head like he'd bragged about doing in our pretend battles. Then once he was finished, and all the orcs were slain, he stepped down from his horse, sheathed his sword, and gave a cocky, crooked grin.

"Told you I'd rescue you," he said, extending his hand out to me. For a moment, I doubted he was real, but that doubt vanished once my skin touched his. He pulled me up, instantly embracing me with his strong arms. I hadn't realized until now how much he'd grown. No longer was he some troublesome apple thief or gangling stableboy. Now, he was a man, lean-framed but very strong, and I was a weak little girl who could only sob into his chest.

"I feared you were dead," I cried.

"No, I wouldn't allow it," he said, pulling my chin up, "not until I found you. Besides, I'm Turin the Great. No mere orc can defeat me."

"Still as arrogant as ever," Winnie said with a small smile as she joined the two of us. Immediately, I broke away from Turin and threw my arms around her, hugging her as tightly as I could. Then Turin tightened the hug even further by wrapping his arms around the both of us.

"At last," Turin said, "the Three Great Warriors of Erudin are together again. Orcs of Middle-earth, beware!"

The Three Great Warriors were indeed together again, and we took to the forest, hoping to find safety on the other side. At first, we were all quiet, careful, but then we began to relax, and Turin tried his best to lighten the tense atmosphere.

"So apart from the orc invasion, how was the wedding?" he asked, cracking a smirk.

I suppressed a laugh. "There was no wedding, Turin. It was interrupted, and my betrothed abandoned me in a moment of panic. I believe he may be dead now."

"What a noble young fox. He will be greatly missed."

"And what of our parents?" Winnie asked. "Have you seen them?"

Turin shook his head. "I've seen only corpses and orcs since I left Erudin to find you."

"We would be dead now if not for you," I said to him, unable to fully express my gratitude with mere words.

"I'll always come for you, Ana. No matter what happens, I'll always protect you and Winnie, even if it costs me my life."

I smiled. "My, I hardly recognize you, Turin. In just a day, you've become a man."

"Well," he said with a laugh, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm just looking for an excuse to use my new sword."

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	5. The Hobbits of Midgewater

**Time to meet some hobbits!**

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><p><span>Chapter 5: The Hobbits of Midgewater<span>

We must've spent hours in Chetwood, yet we still hadn't reached the forest's end. Winnie was growing tired, restless, even more than the horses that now walked beside us. Every twenty steps it seemed she was asking for another break, complaining that her legs were tired or she couldn't breathe properly. We allowed her the first few without complaint, but all those after were discouraged because the orcs weren't far behind; we could hear them through the forest. If Turin had his way, we would've charged the orcs head-on, but Winnie was too tired and frightened, and I didn't really want to fight either. Without orcs to slay, Turin sought other means of entertainment: hacking at random bushes and pretending they were orcs just like when we were children. It was cute then, but now it was just strange.

"I just don't understand," he said after a while. "Why now? There hasn't been an orc threat since, well, the One Ring." He dragged his sword across the ground. "You don't suppose it was reforged, do you? And Sauron has returned?"

I shook my head. "No, it's not possible. It couldn't have been."

The more I thought about it, though, the more I began to doubt myself. Was it possible? The One Ring had been destroyed by Frodo Baggins, the brave hobbit of the Shire; he cast it into the fires of Mount Doom. Father had told me the story dozens of times; I practically knew it by heart. Still, what if it had been reforged somehow?

"If it has, we must reestablish the Fellowship," Turin said, but I assumed he was just playing. "Quick, find me four hobbits, a wizard, a dwarf, and a legless elf."

"Why a legless elf?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In the Fellowship, there was a legless elf."

"What use would they have for a legless elf? That doesn't make sense, Turin." At last, the forest was beginning to get to him. Turin was losing his mind.

"It does!" he insisted. "I've heard the story many times."

"I've heard it more than you. Trust me, the elf had both his legs."

The legend had been passed around so many times that nobody knew the true story anymore. Why, I'd heard so many exaggerated variations growing up that even I was beginning to doubt what had actually happened all those years ago. For all I knew, it could've been the dwarf who'd destroyed the One Ring. Without a doubt, though, the elf in the story, an elf I still very much admired, had both his legs, that I knew.

"No matter," Turin said. "We still need an elf, legless or not."

But where were we to find an elf or a wizard? They'd all left because of us, because of men. Father always said that the elves simply grew tired of Middle-earth and longed to return to their homes in the Undying Lands, but I knew that wasn't entirely true. They were also tired of men and their corruption, their greed. Because of men, dwarves were being driven to near extinction. Because of men, hobbits were being held as slaves, bought and sold by the nobles like property. And now, in our time of need, where were we to turn for help? The wizards? They'd abandoned us long ago. No, if Sauron had indeed returned, there would be no alliance; we would be left to face this enemy alone.

"I can't bear it anymore," Winnie groaned as she collapsed against a tree and sank to her knees, huffing and puffing. "I need to rest."

"Winnie, we can't afford to rest now," I said. "The orcs are still out there."

"But I can't."

"Leave her for the orcs," Turin interjected. "She's only slowing us down."

"Be quiet, Turin!" Winnie yelled in between pants. "I'm not like you. I can't handle this."

I sighed. "Maybe we should rest a while." And when I saw Turin open his mouth to complain, I added, "We'll need our strength anyway, especially if you intend to fight orcs."

Turin didn't like the idea—and he certainly complained—but he eventually submitted to the majority. As I tied up Faelon, I could hear him mumbling to himself, saying something about leaving Winnie as orc bait so he could stage a surprise attack. So much for thinking he'd grown up. He may have looked like a man, but he still acted like an eight-year-old boy. As we sat together on the forest floor, the frown never left his face, and his arms remained folded over his chest.

"If I was home now, I'd be listening to Mother recite poetry in the great hall," Winnie said with a sad smile. "I've always loved her poetry."

"I wouldn't even be home now," I realized. "I'd be preparing for my wedding night." I shivered at the thought of Beinion putting his slimy, polished fingers on me. To think that such a horrid man, worse than even orcs, had almost become my husband!

"You no longer have to worry about that," Turin replied. "You'll never have to go back there, Ana. We can run away together, just like we've always dreamed. Now is our chance!"

Winnie scoffed. "Do you really think she's going to run away with you, a stableboy? No, she'll return home where she belongs, won't you, Anariel?"

They both turned their attention to me, eyes focused, waiting for the answer that I simply couldn't give. Luckily, a rustle in the forest averted everybody's attention, including the horses'. Turin's horse was driven so mad that it yanked its reins free and sped off, galloping past the trees.

"No!" Turin yelled as he jumped to his feet and ran after the horse, but then his steps quickly slowed to a stop when he realized it was useless. Growling, he punched his fist into the tree that had once restrained his horse. "What are we going to do now? We—"

An arrow suddenly shot into the tree, just inches away from Turin's hand. Yelping, he stumbled back a few paces, eyes wide and alert. Then, quickly recovering, he drew his sword just as an armored orc came running out of the trees. Screaming like a madman, Turin charged the orc, first giving him a hard kick to the chest and then finishing him off with his blade. The battle ended in an eerie stillness that overtook even the forest, but then, slowly, the roars of orcs began to penetrate the silence. Quickly, I pulled Winnie to her feet and prepared to run, but Turin had another idea. After ripping the sword from the dead orc's hand, he extended the blade to me and said, "Anariel, will you stand beside me, just as you did all those years ago?"

My breath caught in my throat. Winnie was pulling on my sleeve, begging me to stay with her, but my feet wanted to move forward; I couldn't stop them. Pulling my arm free, I joined Turin and took the sword from him. "Live by the sword and die by the sword," I said, making him grin. Then I told Winnie to take Faelon and hide in the forest until we came for her. She staggered back, choking on her words, but ultimately fled to what I prayed would be safety.

"I've dreamt of this moment since I was a child," Turin said, practically shaking with excitement. In all our years, I'd never seen him happier.

I was shaking as well, but for a much different reason: I was scared to death; I could barely hold my sword straight. The orcs were getting closer, their roars were growing louder, and the ground quaked beneath my feet. My mouth was becoming dry, yet I kept trying to swallow over and over to match the rhythm of my pounding heart. Soon, that was the only sound I could hear. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _Then, in between the beats, I felt Turin slip his hand into mine, and there was a calmness.

"No fear," he said to me. "Death is just the beginning of another great adventure."

I stared up at him. "How can you be sure?"

And with a serious face, he answered, "Because Turin the Great knows everything."

I let out a dry laugh. Joke or not, his words had an effect on me. Yes, I was frightened, terrified even, but standing next to Turin on the battlefield brought strength to my heart. I could do this. I could fight.

At last, they came, dozens of them from what I could see, but I could hear more behind them. Swords drawn, Turin and I charged them together, and during that entire run, I'd forgotten to breathe. Not until my sword dealt its first blow did the air finally rush into my lungs, and with that single breath, a wave hit me, consuming all the fear within me and expelling it from my body. Like all those years ago, I felt the great rush of battle, and it was intoxicating. My body moved on its own, as if a great warrior had possessed me, and I was attacking with excellent power and precision. Once the warrior left me, however, I was rendered a drunken fool. I was so consumed by that intoxicating rush that I neglected to check behind me, and when I finally did, reality struck me in the form of a blade piercing through my chest. My eyes were wide, blinking in disbelief, as the sword was withdrawn, and I collapsed to the ground.

It was a strange feeling, really, one nearly impossible to describe accurately; painful, yes, but not the kind I was expecting, perhaps due to the shock. This strange sensation bewildered me so much that I hardly noticed the orc towering over me, and when I did, I just stared at him with a blank expression. From his point of view, it must've looked like I'd given up and accepted my fate, but really I was just confused. I knew he was going to strike, and I was waiting for it. Soon, I would find out if Turin had been right about death.

Before I could get my answer, however, Turin appeared, his face contorted with fury, and cut down my opponent with his sword. Then, quickly sheathing his weapon, he bent down and pulled me up from the ground, his motions heavily labored from battle. Despite his fatigue, he cradled me securely in both arms and began to run through the forest with great speed.

"Did we win?" I asked as my head bobbed up and down.

"No," he answered. "There are many more behind us."

"Am I heavy?"

"Not at all."

My fingers swept across his chest, feeling blood, and I said, "You've got blood on you."

"It's not mine."

Then I looked down at my chest, seeing a similar blood stain, but mine was in red, not black. "I've got blood on me as well."

"That, unfortunately, is yours."

"I see," I replied, starting to feel a bit groggy, likely from the loss of blood. "Did I kill many orcs at least?" I asked because I honestly couldn't remember killing even one.

"You killed three."

I groaned. "So I was useless, then." But when I failed to receive a response from Turin, I realized that those words had never left my mouth, for I lacked the strength to move my lips. My head felt heavy too, so heavy that I couldn't even hold it up anymore; it was like those logs of wood that I'd always avoided carrying when Mother put me to work as punishment. Once again, Turin was bearing all the weight for me.

"You have to find Winnie," I muttered. "You have ... find her."

"I will," he answered, "but you have to stay awake, okay? And I'll find help."

I managed a slight nod before resting against Turin's chest. I tried my hardest to keep my eyes open, really I did, and for a while it seemed like I was winning that battle; my eyes were literally wide open, so wide that they could've hopped out of my sockets; but I couldn't restrain them for long, and soon they fell.

Suddenly, I was back in the forest outside my village, reduced to my eight-year-old self, a happy child who could climb trees as tall as mountains and swim across lakes with a single breath—at least in her imagination. I felt alive again, more than I'd been in years. Across the forest floor I ran with the wind at my back, and I felt weightless, finally free. Everything, even the tiniest leaf, held its own wonder, and I would've happily spent my entire life exploring it all.

With my arms outstretched, I followed my feet for miles, never once questioning their path, until they abruptly stopped at a most unlikely place: the ruins of the elven palace. I would have raced up the stairs had it not been for the shadowy figure guarding the entrance. A single, brief glance rendered it a mere blob, but a closer look revealed the form of a woman: tall, willowy, though still nothing more than a silhouette to my eyes.

_"Come, Anariel,"_ she said to me, her voice whispery and melodic. It was her beautiful voice that must've been guiding my feet, for it was happening again. Helpless against it, I floated up the stairs and into the great hall, where she stood waiting near its end, her hand extended toward me, her misty fingers inviting me to join her, and I did without so much as a thought. She knelt next to me then and whispered into my ear, her voice tingling my skin like a light, cool breeze: _"I need you to retrieve something for me, Anariel. Can you do that?"_

At her words, the wall opened before me, revealing a small room, dark and ominous, and at its end sparkled the dazzling ruby pendent, like a beacon providing safe passage through the darkness. The ruby was all I could see as I heard the woman's voice in my ear once more, her voice almost as mesmerizing at the jewel itself.

_"Bring it to me, Anariel."_

Then I heard nothing, saw nothing, and when my vision finally returned, I saw not the jewel, but two pairs of eyes that sat above small, pointed noses.

"She's awake!" one exclaimed.

I gasped, springing up from the small bed beneath me. Now, I considered many beds small—even my own bed was quite tiny—but this one was long enough for only a small child, and the two men among me were of that very height, with slightly pointed ears that stuck out from beneath their curly brown hair.

"Hobbits!" I screamed out of excitement rather than fear. Unfortunately, the two hobbits assumed the latter and immediately began apologizing.

"We mean you no harm," the shorter of the two said.

"You're quite safe, really," the other went on. "Your friends should be back soon."

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just excited, that's all. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I'd meet two hobbits. This is one of the greatest moments of my life!" All my words were running together so much that I likely sounded like a bumbling idiot, which was probably why they made the upcoming assumption of me.

The short one glanced at the other. "I think you may have given her one too many herbs, Jumbi."

He shrugged. "Well, she was practically dying when she arrived. What else was I supposed to do?"

Finally, I remembered everything. The orcs. The battle. The blade that pierced me. And as I recalled all this, my eyes traveled down to my chest, where a large scar marked the flesh beneath my right shoulder.

"You've been unconscious for almost a week," Jumbi later told me.

"But I'm alive," I said, returning my eyes to them, "thanks to you."

Jumbi's cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "Well, I did what I could ..." His voice broke off into a stutter, and then he laughed. "Where are my manners? My name is Jumbili Baggins, and this is—"

"I can introduce myself," the short one interrupted, and then he cleared his throat. "Orin Proudfoot. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"The pleasure's all mine," I replied with a smile. "I'm Anariel ... Wait, did you say, 'Baggins'? As in Frodo Baggins, the Ring-bearer? You're a relative?"

Orin groaned and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

Jumbi stepped forward, a proud smile on his face as he replied, "I most certainly am. A bit of a distant relative, but a relative no less."

"Very distant," Orin muttered.

"Oh, be quiet."

Then I heard a door open and close, followed by soft footsteps coming toward us. With her head bent down slightly, Winnie quietly entered the room with a wooden pail in her arms.

"I've collected the herbs you asked for ..." Her voice fell silent as she laid her eyes upon me. "Anariel, you're awake!" she exclaimed, letting the pail slip from her arms and crash to the floor. Orin was at the site in a blink of an eye, frantically scooping all the herbs back into the pail.

"We'll need these for supper," he muttered to himself.

"I'm very sorry," Winnie said before tip-toeing past him and throwing herself at the foot of my bed. "Anariel, I'm so glad you're all right. We were all so worried about you. How are you feeling? Does your wound hurt?"

Again, I examined the scar below my shoulder. "Actually, I feel perfectly fine."

Then I heard another voice coming toward the room, spewing complaints as usual.

"I've about had it. This place is worse than back home, I swear. Never in my life have I been bitten by so many insects." Turin entered the room in a fit, which only worsened when he smacked his forehead on the door frame. Groaning, he stumbled back and then bent down before entering. "This place is a nightmare," he went on as he scratched and picked at the tiny red lumps that covered his skin.

"You didn't apply the repellent, I see," Orin said, happy again now that his herbs had been salvaged.

"I refuse to rub that foul plant on my skin," Turin replied as he viciously scratched behind his ear like a dog.

"Then quit your complaining."

Upon practically tearing through the skin of his neck, Turin's eyes finally came across me, freezing his hand in mid-scratch. His mouth hung open as he attempted to speak my name. Feeling strong, I rose to my feet and moved toward him, having to lower my head quite a bit to avoid hitting the ceiling. His lips were still quivering even as I stood right in front of him.

"I thought I'd lost you," he finally said, a tiny tear beginning to form in his green eyes.

"You nearly did."

Our touching reunion was soon interrupted by the sound of two whispering hobbits behind me. Although I could not clearly hear what they were saying, I caught my name and Turin's mentioned quite a few times. Turning around, I shot both of them a stern glance. "What are you two talking about?" I asked.

The two jumped and began to nervously stammer as they made their way around us and toward the door.

"Nothing!"

"Oh, nothing at all!"

"Just silly stuff, really."

"Well, we're gonna go get supper ready."

"Yes, don't mind us at all. Continue whatever you were doing."

As Orin and Jumbi prepared supper in the kitchen, the rest of us moved to the sitting room, which was just outside the kitchen. The close proximity of the two rooms made it very hard for Jumbi not to eavesdrop, and soon he abandoned the kitchen entirely and came to visit with us. He was hardly missed, though, because Orin said he was just a distraction anyway.

"Where are we, exactly?" I asked Jumbi.

"Midgewater," he answered. "Granted, a marsh is far from ideal, but we've found it to be quite pleasant. Once you get past the smell and all the little biters, it's a very cozy place to live." And then his cheerful tone began to die out. "Of course, it's not the Shire."

My heart sank. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

Quickly, his smile returned. "Ah, these things happen. There's no sense getting angry about it ... You've just got to move on."

I'd always been told that hobbits were insignificant, lesser creatures who had been placed on this earth to serve those above them. But these "insignificant" creatures had more compassion in a single finger than we had in our entire beings. They'd sheltered us from danger, knowing full well of the pain and suffering our people had brought them. Perhaps we were the lesser creatures, after all.

At nightfall, we all sat down to a nice rabbit supper, along with some bizarre flowery plant that Orin assured was edible and very delicious. I hesitantly took a bite and was surprised to find that it was kind of sweet, but I wasn't about to ask what it was, nor was I going to eat the other green plant on my plate, which Jumbi claimed was poisonous unless properly cooked. No, I wasn't willing to take any chances, but Turin was happily stuffing his face with it. In fact, I was paying more attention to him than Jumbi's childhood story.

"And the rabbit was this big!" Jumbi said loudly, spreading out his arms as far as they could reach. "I've never seen anything like it."

Orin just shook his head. "I know of no land with rabbits that large."

"But that's nothing compared to the one my cousin Frodo caught," Jumbi went on, completely ignoring him. "Why, his was almost twice that size. And did I mention the time he defeated a cave-troll with his bare hands? Such an amazing feat!"

"He did no such thing," Orin said.

"I assure you, he did."

Orin pushed his empty plate forward and then turned to Jumbi. "Since Anariel is alive and well, perhaps we should return her belongings to her. What do you think, Jumbi?"

Jumbi's cheeks flushed as he fiddled nervously with his fingers. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Excellent," Orin said, smugly folding his arms over his chest.

I watched Jumbi with a confused stare as his hands disappeared beneath the table and reappeared a few seconds later, tightly clutching my ruby necklace. My eyes widened as my hands went to my neck, feeling nothing but my skin. To think I hadn't even noticed it had gone missing.

Giving a sheepish smile, he returned the necklace to me. "Sorry."

"It's all right," I replied, putting the necklace back on. Just as I'd finished closing the clasp, Turin shoved his nose in my face and stared down at the necklace with great interest, his eyes narrow and lips pursed inquisitively.

"Where did you get that necklace?" he finally asked.

I bit down on my lip. "Umm ..."

"It was a gift from our mother," Winnie answered for me.

Turin pulled back so that our eyes were meeting. I attempted a smile, but the look in Turin's eyes made it very hard to do so. He knew I was lying. He always knew when I was lying; I was completely transparent to him.

"That's an awfully expensive piece of jewelry, certainly one your mother would cherish." He lips curled into a smirk. "She would never give you such a gift."

"No," I admitted, "she wouldn't."

"So where did you ... ?" His eyes suddenly went wide. "You stole it, didn't you?"

Winnie gasped. "Anariel, how could you?"

"I ... I ..."

My back was against the wall. Everyone was looking at me like I was some terrible thief—even Jumbi, who was a thief himself. I didn't know what to do, so I just sat there with a guilty look on my face.

"You took it from that elven palace, didn't you?" Turin accused. "I'm ashamed of you!"

"Oh, please!" I shot back, immediately going on the offensive. "Don't think I didn't see you shove that crystal goblet into your trousers. You're as guilty as I am!"

Actually, I was lying through my teeth. I hadn't seen him take a single thing from the palace, but I figured it was worth a shot. Turin was a sneaky little fellow, so I could've been correct, but even if I was wrong, and he denied it, the suspicion would remain in everyone else's minds, keeping the attention away from me. It was guaranteed victory. As Father always said, _never provoke a stag_.

He lurched back. "Why, I ... I ... This isn't about me! The point is you stole the necklace!"

Victory.

Jumbi shook his head in disappointment. "You're both a pair of thieves."

"Then they're in good company, aren't they?" Orin said, silencing his friend.

Taking one last sip of his beverage, Orin stood up and began clearing the table with the help of Winnie, who probably just wanted to escape the tense atmosphere. Alone in the dining room, we three thieves sat together in an awkward silence. Turin was busy scratching the bug bites on his forearm, Jumbi was flicking crumbs off the table with his fingers, and I was watching them both with mild amusement, wondering how long the silence was going to last.

"Since you know so much about Frodo, perhaps you can settle a little debate Anariel and I were having earlier," Turin said to Jumbi. "The elf in the Fellowship, did he have both his legs?"

The silence returned as Jumbi sat there with a dumbfounded expression on his face, but it was quickly broken by his roaring laughter. In between giggles he said, "What use would the Fellowship have for a legless elf? What a silly thought!"

I joined him in laughter. "My thoughts exactly."

Turin's face flushed with anger as he arose, nearly breaking the table with his fists and definitely smacking his head on the ceiling. The loud thud was heard even amidst the loud clinging and clanging of dishes in the kitchen. Hiding the pain behind his tightly clenched jaw, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Jumbi's laughter stopped. "I think I've offended him."

"Oh, Turin." Jumping from my chair, I rushed after him, ignoring Jumbi's suggestion to apply the insect repellent. I didn't care if I was bitten by one hundred insects; all I wanted to do was make sure Turin was all right. He was a very sensitive man deep, deep down. I swear, he would've rather had his arm chopped off than be taken as a fool.

Of course, once my boots sank into the watery marsh, I really regretted not listening to Jumbi's advice. The first bite occurred about two steps out, and it didn't really hurt or itch too much, but six bites later, my skin was on fire, and Turin was nowhere to be found. I started running then, splashing through the bog, partially because I was concerned about Turin, but mostly to get away from all the bugs. There was, however, one little pest that I couldn't seem to escape.

"Winnie, go back to the house," I ordered without stopping or slowing my pace. "There's no need for you to follow."

"I'm worried about Turin, too. What did you say to him anyway?"

"Nothing! Now, go back!"

"I won't!"

Either I was getting slower or she was getting faster because she was actually able to keep up with me. She was right on my tail even when I'd reached the marsh's end, but there was still no sign of Turin anywhere.

"Where could he have gone?" Winnie wondered aloud as we stopped briefly, right at the edge of Chetwood. "The forest is large. We might not find him."

"I will find him. He couldn't have gone far."

Driven by determination, I took a single step forward, expecting to meet the branches of a great tree or the thorns of a bush, but instead I met the sharp tip of a blade pointed straight at my nose. I blinked my eyes for a few seconds, convinced it was some sort of an illusion, but with every blink, it still remained. Gulping deeply, I stepped back and smacked into Winnie, who stood as rigid as a tree trunk.

He emerged from the trees then: tall, fair, clad in grey, lowering his weapon to his side. I was scared at first, but then moon's light captured him at just the right angle, allowing me to see the pointed ears that protruded from his dark hair. At that moment, all my silly, girlish fantasies broke through the blockade I'd spent years building, believing elves were gone forever. Funny how it took the sight of just one to bring it all crumbling down. When I saw the others gathered around us, ten of them at least, I was so astonished and excited that I could barely form words. I almost didn't notice Turin amongst them, so plain in comparison, taken as their prisoner.

A second elf joined the one in front of me, and for a second, I could've sworn I was seeing double. Although the light was dim, I could see their features were the same, like identical twins. Together they talked in a language I could not understand, but the frequent glances I received made the topic very clear, and I soon found myself, along with Turin and Winnie, on horseback, heading toward an unknown land.


	6. Lord Elrond's Secret Council

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><p><span>Chapter 6: Lord Elrond's Secret Council<span>

When I'd first heard of elves, I was probably no older than four. It was the night Father returned from Annúminas, where King Tyrek was celebrating the restoration of his great city. Times were much happier then, at least to my innocent eyes. Erudin was prosperous, while Archet was a mere speck in the forest. Father was happy too, and he told me that night of an encounter he had on the road to Annúminas. He said he and his guards came across these inhumanly beautiful creatures with pointed ears and sparkling grey eyes. They were elves, he told me, peaceful people and wise far beyond their years.

Unfortunately, his story left many unanswered questions lingering in my mind. The world of the elves was one shrouded in mystery, but I was determined to uncover it. I sought answers from everyone in the castle, even the weird man who slept with the pigs, but they knew nothing of elves. Our old, fat servant was the worst; she would shriek at me, "What would I know of those pointy-eared folk? Do I look like an elf to you?" And, naturally, I would reply, "No, you look more like a dwarf," which would result in a hard smack to my backside. Needless to say, I never asked her again.

Since all the servants and guards were useless, I expanded my search for elven knowledge to the village. The baker was a fool, the butcher spoke incoherently, but the blacksmith was most helpful. Upon my visit, he told me of a place he'd seen in his youth, a place hidden within a narrow valley of the Misty Mountains. Rivendell, he called it, and he said it was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. He spoke of a great house that seemed to be floating above the river because the mist was so thick that it covered the mountain cliffs. Since hearing his story, I'd longed to see Rivendell with my own eyes, and today, I was being granted that pleasure but under much undesired circumstances. I hoped I would go as a friend, not a prisoner.

As we walked the rest of the way on foot, I could hear Turin whispering to Winnie, telling her of how this reminded him of the Fellowship of the Ring, and then he continued on with his conspiracy regarding the return of Sauron and the One Ring. She didn't seem to be listening to him though; she was probably too concerned about making it across the bridge safely. She was never very fond of heights, my sister. Nevertheless, he continued his rambling, saying we were probably going to be asked to join a new fellowship. Right, the elves wanted a bunch of children to save Middle-earth when they had countless warriors at their disposal. No, we weren't about to be joining any fellowship; I realized that when we were brought to the porch of the very house I'd dreamt of, where a council of elves waited, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes affixed on me. I felt like a child about to be punished by her parents.

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but be awestruck in their presence. My eyes were alive, trying to absorb as much as they could hold; I wanted to pluck them out and dump all they'd previously seen just to make room for more, but still it wouldn't have been enough. With every elf I passed, I slowed my pace to allow more visual consumption. Fifteen were present, mostly men, all bearing dark hair except for the few who had golden hair. I'd never known elves to have golden hair, so I was most puzzled by this. For quite some time, I just stared at the group of them, eventually catching the eye of a strange elf dressed in green and brown. Why, compared to everyone else, he looked more like a hunter who'd just returned from the forest. He even had a bit of dirt on his cheek. Throughout the years, I'd created many ideal images of elves, but he didn't fit a single one of them.

Upon reaching the middle of the floor, one of the twins took my arm and guided me toward a dark-haired elf with a face neither young nor old and eyes that must've seen the pass of thousands of years. After releasing me, the twin took his place at the elf's side, where he was soon joined by his brother. Novice eyes probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between the twins, but I could; all I had to do was look into their eyes. While both were grey in color, one had a hint of mischievousness, a certain playfulness, while the other was more serious, softer though, like a cloud ... a grey storm cloud.

"What is your name?" the elf asked, his voice deep and authoritative. I was almost too intimidated to answer.

"Anariel, daughter of Authion," I said quietly.

"Anariel, daughter of Authion, I am Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Do you know why we have brought you here today?"

"No, I don't."

"That necklace you are wearing," he went on, "how did you come to possess it?"

I stared down at my necklace, baffled by the amount of attention it always seemed to receive. Why was everybody so curious about this piece of jewelry? It was just a necklace, after all. Shouldn't they have been more concerned about the sudden orc attacks?

"I found it," I answered.

"Where?"

"In an abandoned palace in a forest near my village."

"That is impossible!" a golden-haired elf declared as he stepped forward, catching everyone's attention. "The palace in the White Forest has been sealed off. My sister spoke the words herself."

"And where is your sister, Thranduil," Lord Elrond asked, "so that she may better explain this matter?"

The elf stepped back. "She refused to attend."

Lord Elrond returned his attention to me. "Why did you take the necklace, Anariel?"

"I don't own nice things," I answered honestly. "I thought it was pretty, so I took it for myself."

"You thought it was pretty?" another elf interjected. "What business does a mortal girl have in an elven palace?"

I stepped back, overwhelmed by his sudden outburst. I didn't know what to say; I didn't understand. Was this necklace that important to them? Did it belong to some great queen or something? If so, I would've gladly returned it. But they were all looking at me as if I was an enemy. I was just a girl!

"It's my fault!" Turin suddenly shouted, rushing to my side. Standing tall, he said to all the elves, "I'm the one who found the palace. I'm the one who broke into the secret passage. Anariel did nothing wrong."

He was doing it again, taking all the blame for me. Too long had I sat back and allowed him to be punished for my wrongdoings. When I released the pigs into the great hall, Turin took the blame. When I wiped manure all over Mother's finest gown, Turin took the blame. When I accidentally set the barn on fire, Turin took the blame. He'd suffered countless lashes and beatings, ones so bad that he sometimes couldn't move for days, all because of me. But not today.

"No, Turin, it's my fault. I took the necklace." Then I unclasped the chain, pulled it from my neck, and held it out for Lord Elrond to take back. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have taken it, but I couldn't help myself."

Without a word, Lord Elrond took the necklace from me, and then I dropped to my knees, crying, "And now I know I must die for my crimes!"

My actions were met with complete silence, but I could've sworn I heard a quiet, stifled laugh to the right of me. I paid little attention to it, though, because my thoughts were focused on the punishment to come. With my head hung low, eyes closed, I waited to meet my grim fate. I'd never seen an execution, but I'd heard many stories about them. The guards once talked of a soldier who'd betrayed his king, so he was decapitated in front of the entire city with his own sword. They said the blood squirted from his open neck like a fountain, and his body continued to twitch long after he'd been beheaded. I wondered how long my body would twitch once my head was gone.

At last, I could sense movement above me. Lord Elrond was preparing the great sword that would end my life. I took a sharp breath and flinched as not a blade came down but a hand, a gentle hand that fell upon my shoulder.

"Please rise, Anariel. You have done nothing worthy of such a punishment."

My face burned with embarrassment as I slowly stood, though part of me just wanted to stay on the ground, maybe even fall through it and drown in the river below. Everyone, even Turin, was staring at me with wide, bewildered eyes. Again, I'd let my wild imagination get the best of me.

Lord Elrond, holding the necklace out for everyone to see, then said, "You all know why you've been summoned back to Middle-earth. An ancient evil is awakening in the East. Valmoria will soon rise again, and with her, she will bring a plague of darkness."

"The amulet must be destroyed before she wakes," the golden-haired elf said, "and Valmoria sent back to Mandos." Then he placed his hand upon the shoulder of the strangely dressed elf beside him. "My son will see it done."

"And why should we place our faith in your son?" another elf argued.

"My family has guarded the amulet for thousands of years," he answered.

"Yes, your sister was named its protector, and we all know what became of that. We can no longer trust your family with such a great task, Thranduil. Now, my son is more than suited for—"

"Your son has never left Aman! We need someone who understands the terrain of Middle-earth, who has traveled it before. Legolas has already proven himself."

As the two families quarreled, I felt that guilty feeling return to my stomach. This really was all my fault. If I hadn't taken the necklace from the chest, none of this would have happened. Now, some evil sorceress was about to destroy the world, all because of me. Maybe it was because of guilt, the need to right a wrong, but for some reason, I couldn't stop the words that were about to fly out of my mouth.

"I'll do it," I said, bringing everybody's eyes to me.

A dark-haired elf laughed. "This is not the task for a child."

If there was one thing I hated, it was being looked down on by those older than me. I wasn't just a child. If I was old enough to marry some pompous lord and bear his wretched children, then I was certainly old enough to take on this responsibility.

"I took the necklace," I reaffirmed with all the confidence I could muster. "I should be the one to destroy it."

Lord Elrond looked me in the eye. "Do you understand the gravity of your decision?"

"No," I replied honestly, "and I'll probably regret it later, but I know it must be done."

He nodded his head. "Then it is decided," he announced as he returned the necklace to me. "Anariel will be the keeper of the amulet, but she will not bear this burden alone. My sons will accompany her, guide her, and protect her."

And so it was. The task was mine, and I still wasn't entirely sure of what I'd just agreed to do. As I stood there, ignoring the discussion going on around me, I couldn't help but wonder if Frodo shared a similar feeling when he'd agreed to become the Ring-bearer. Did he feel as helpless as I did? Did he feel regret? Deep down, I felt as though I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life, and all I wanted to do was back out of it. Certainly, Frodo wasn't such a coward. How I wished I had his courage now.

I was still contemplating my decision long after the meeting had ended. Turin and Winnie had gone exploring, but I requested to stay behind. My thoughts were troubled, filled with regret and uncertainty, so I stood on the terrace, gazing down at the garden, hoping to clear my head. Just below, Thranduil and his son were conversing, their words foreign and far too quiet for my ears, but that alone couldn't smother my curiosity; it was raging through me like a wildfire. To better hear, I gripped the railing tightly and began to lean forward until my toes were just barely touching the ground. Finally, their voices were becoming clearer, and I could have sworn I heard my name mentioned at least once, so I leaned further still, my feet rising into the air, and listened very closely as they began to walk away.

"It is impolite to eavesdrop."

Five words. Five little words were enough to completely throw off my balance. Despite my best efforts to pull myself up, I plummeted forward and my legs flipped over my head and started flopping around like two flags caught in the wind. Had it not been for my tight grip, I would've fallen to my death. Like a terrified cat clinging to a branch, I held on to that railing for dear life, and over my shaking arms I saw the smiling face of Elrohir, one of Lord Elrond's sons.

"See what happens when you eavesdrop?" he teased, placing his hands next to mine on the railing.

"Elrohir," I pleaded, "help me, please."

His brow furrowed. "How do you know my name, little spy?"

"I overheard your father speaking to you and Elladan in the hall."

He smirked. "Clever girl."

This man, this elf, who was supposed to serve as my guide and guardian, instead of helping, was watching me struggle with a pleased smile on his face. That sadist! Then when he became bored, he hopped over the railing and joined me on the other side, squatting comfortably on the narrow ledge.

"So," he said, resting his head on his arm, "how long do you think you will be able to stay like this?"

"Not long," I replied, my hands already beginning to slip. "Please, help me."

"Nonsense! You're doing just fine on your own. You've got to have more confidence in yourself, little spy, especially if you intend to destroy the amulet."

At those words, my left hand slipped, and I began to panic, but Elrohir didn't even flinch. "Come on, I know you can do it," he said.

"You're crazy!"

He waved his finger at me. "Now, I am not the one dangling over the edge of a terrace, am I?"

"No, you're the one watching. Tell me, who's more disturbed?"

He grinned. "I'm starting to like you, little spy."

I had witty retort prepared—it was perfect—but before I could say it, my right hand finally gave out, and I began to fall fast, so fast that I couldn't even scream. With my eyes squeezed shut, I waited for the impact, wondering if my bones would snap or just shatter when they hit the ground. Surprisingly, they neither snapped nor shattered, for I was miraculously saved at the last moment. At first, I thought Elrohir had suffered a change of heart, but as I continued to stare, I realized it wasn't Elrohir's arms that cradled me.

"Elladan," I said, feeling my heart skip a beat.

Whenever I saw his face, my thoughts always wandered to the elf in the Fellowship of the Ring. Every feature of Elladan's was identical to my vision of that elf, and I couldn't help but wonder if they were one and the same. I would've asked, but I feared it would reveal my feelings, so I remained quiet.

"Three minutes!" Elrohir cheered just before he jumped down from the ledge, landing perfectly on his feet without so much as a thud. "Three minutes flat!"

"That is no way to treat a lady," Elladan said as he gently lowered me to the ground. How I wished he'd held me just a bit longer.

"Oh, you're just mad you lost the bet." Grinning victoriously, Elrohir came up to me and gently pinched my cheek with his fingers, saying in a childish tone, "I knew you had it in you, little spy!"

"Was it worth scaring her half to death?" Elladan asked.

"I scared her? You're the one who pointed a blade at her nose back in Midgewater. Far from a polite introduction, wouldn't you agree?" Then he draped his arms around the both of us and said, "Let us forgive all previous offenses and start with a clean slate, hmm? After all, we are going to be spending a lot of time together."

"I have spent all my life with you," Elladan retorted, shrugging Elrohir's arm away. "Any longer, and I might kill you." Then he turned to me and gave a small but warm smile. "You must forgive my brother; he has been away from Middle-earth far too long." Before taking his leave, the elf gently bowed his head and said, "Goodbye, Anariel."

"Goodbye," I muttered, watching him walk away with deep, longing eyes. He even walked like I'd always imagined.

"Well, little spy, it's just you and me now," Elrohir said, gently ruffling my hair. "What shall we do with our time together?"

"You can do whatever you'd like," I replied, pulling away from him. "I'm going exploring."

"Oh, so you're abandoning me, too. This isn't a very good start to our friendship."

"Then let's start with a clean slate tomorrow, okay?" I said with a laugh as I walked away.

I continued through the garden, hoping to catch up with Elladan somewhere along the way, but we never crossed paths. I did, however, come across a fair elven woman sitting in quiet solitude on a stone bench, her long, wavy locks blowing in the breeze, though she herself did not move an inch. She sat so still that I might've mistaken her for one of the beautiful statues.

"I have seen your face before," she said in a soft yet strong voice. "Come closer, Anariel, daughter of Authion."

I approached her with slow, quiet steps so as not to disturb her any further. When I'd reached an appropriate distance, she stopped me with a single glance of her grey eyes, eyes so bright, they belonged in the night sky. I felt like I was dishonoring her by making her look into such plain eyes as mine, so I cast them to the ground.

"Eight years ago, I traveled West with my people, and along the way, I spotted three innocent children peeking through the trees. You looked away then just as you do now, Anariel."

Gradually, my eyes rose from the ground as I remembered the day of which she spoke.

"It is I who should avert my eyes," she said, her voice full of remorse, "for my mistake may very well cost you your life."

"You were the amulet's protector."

"Yes, I am Indilwen, keeper of the amulet, or at least I was."

"Who is Valmoria?" I asked, sitting down beside her. "I must know."

"She was once a great elven queen, blessed by the Valar with exceptional power, loved and respected by all. But that was not enough. For years, Valmoria coveted Mandos, Judge of the Dead and Keeper of Souls, but he was incapable of returning her affection. The sadness she felt in her heart soon turned to anger, and her rage brought a plague of darkness that swept the land, destroying everything in its path. And in spite of Mandos, she created a black river in the center of the earth, where she keeps her stolen souls for all eternity, preventing them from passing to his great halls for judgment.

"Her pestilence lasted for one hundred years until finally the Valar dispelled the darkness and cursed Valmoria to an eternal slumber at the request of Nienna, Lady of Mercy, who took pity on her. Then they took the amulet, the source of her power, and placed it in the care of the elves, who have kept it safe until now. But they were unable to find the Black River. To this day, we do not know its exact location. Its entrance is said to lie in the lands of Rhûn, but no one has seen it with their own eyes. This river you must find, and cast the amulet into its black waters before she wakes."

"How can I find the river?" I asked.

"The amulet. If you listen closely, I suspect it will lead you to it, but it will also lead you to her."

"I cannot do this," I realized, shaking my head. "This is a task meant for the elves, not me."

"You must, Anariel. You have accepted this task, and so it is yours."

She left me then, and all that remained on that stone bench was me and my regret. I never should have taken the amulet, nor should I have agreed to be its keeper. Pulling the chain from my neck, I glared at the gemstone, my hatred for it growing. Then I did something most foolish. I took the ruby and starting bashing it against the bench with all my might, inflicting not a single scratch on its glittering surface. It was mocking me. I swear, I could hear its voice in my ear, and that only angered me further.

"Is that how you intend to destroy it?" I heard Turin say as he quietly approached me. "I may be wrong, but I don't think that's what the wise elves intended."

I dropped the amulet. "I've made a grave mistake, Turin. I never should've taken it."

Turin sat down beside me, taking the amulet in his hand. As he dangled the jewel in front of his eyes, he mused, "It's funny, who would've guessed such a simple thing could be so dangerous?" Then he smiled at me. "But there's one thing I know," he went on, placing the amulet on my lap. "It is in the right hands. I have faith in you, Anariel. You will succeed."

I forced a weak smile. "I wish you could come with me."

He grinned. "Then I will."

"You can't, Turin. You need to look after Winnie while I'm away."

"Winnie will be safe here; you're the one who needs me," he argued. "Anariel, this is the adventure we've been waiting our entire lives for. I'm tired of just being Turin the Stableboy. I need to make something of myself so that people will remember my name long after I'm dead. I'm nothing now, Anariel. Nothing."

I lowered my head onto his shoulder. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

He laughed. "That evil sorceress is no match for me. I could slay her with one arm tied behind my back."

His confidence was amusing but hardly comforting.

"I hope you're right, Turin," I said, tracing over the gemstone with my fingernail. "I hope you're right."


	7. Parting Gifts

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p><span>Chapter 7: Parting Gifts<span>

The day of our departure had come at last. Turin woke bright and early to begin packing for the journey, and then he entered my room while I was still half asleep to model the new tunic the elves had given him. Grinning from ear to ear, he spun, swayed, and sashayed around the room, and no matter how many pillows I whipped at him, he just wouldn't stop.

"I'm never taking this off," he said, fondling his tunic. "Look, no holes, tears, or patches. I feel like royalty!"

I laughed. "Well, I'm very happy for you, ... but could you please leave so I can get ready?"

Turin was in the middle of readjusting his sleeve for the fourth time when his eyes fell upon me, his best friend, who now sat with just a bed sheet draped over her indecent form. I was very embarrassed, of course, but my blush was nothing compared to his. Why, I would've guessed his face was made of fire from the sight of it.

"I'm—I'm very sorry," he babbled as he made a quick exit out the door.

As my cheeks cooled, I stepped out of bed and began to dress, reminding myself that a sophisticated lady should never allow a man to see her in her undergarments. If Mother ever found out that I'd allowed not one, but two men to see me so immodestly, she would have my head. She said young ladies who failed to remain pure and chaste in their youth could never become respectful, refined women in adulthood; instead, they should go to the brothels where they belonged. To protect me from a shameful existence, she established a list of rules for me to live by:

First, I was to remain celibate until my wedding night. Small wonder why. I knew honorable men did not make wives of lewd women. But then she placed upon me several more restrictions that I failed to understand. For instance, I was never to let a man look me in the eye because it might make him lustful and crazy, nor was I to let a man touch more than the tips of my fingers. All this I believed to be impossible. I once spent a whole day in blindness just to avoid meeting the eyes of men. The bumps and bruises I received that day were enough to prove that it was a silly rule and not worth following.

I entered my most rebellious stage when I was twelve. One day, after having pricked myself several times with my cursed sewing needle, I marched straight to the stables and ordered Turin to kiss me. My first kiss, Mother said, was supposed to be with my husband when we were married, but when I found out that my husband-to-be was Lord Beriadan's bratty son, I refused to grant him that honor. Turin was more worthy of my first kiss, anyway.

"Kiss you?" His cheeks reddened as he recoiled from me. "Why?"

"Don't you want to kiss me?" I questioned. "Do you find me ugly?"

"No ... I just ... just ..."

He repeated the same word for two minutes straight, and I finally got sick of waiting for him to decide, so boldly and rather forcefully, I grabbed the collar of his tunic, pulled his lips to mine, and gave him my first kiss. It was short, lasting ten seconds at the most, and I felt nothing extraordinary like Mother blabbed on about. It was just a kiss, two lips touching, but at least it was done.

As I found myself in the Rivendell stables, I couldn't help but laugh at the memory. At the time, I thought nothing of it, but looking back now, I couldn't help but feel deeply ashamed and a little embarrassed for forcing myself upon Turin like that. I'd probably scarred him for life. No wonder he never spoke of women again. I'd probably single-handedly corrupted his opinion of women, making him believe we were aggressive, violent creatures who were out to steal his virtue. Poor boy.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this," I said, stroking Faelon's brown muzzle. "But you'll be safe here, I promise, and when we go back home, you can eat all the apples you want. I won't let anyone stop you."

Next to me, Winnie stood with a deep frown on her face. I knew she was angry with me, but she had to understand that I was doing this for her own good. I was trying to protect her. The road to Rhûn wasn't safe for a thirteen-year-old girl; it was filled with trolls, orcs, and the most terrifying of them all, uruk-hai. Why, if Winnie saw just one uruk-hai, she would likely die of fright. When we were young, Father used to say that if we didn't eat our vegetables, we'd be snatched up in the night by the evil uruk-hai, and they would take us to their lair and eat us raw and still squirming. His stories had the most profound effect on Winnie; she couldn't sleep for eight nights straight. And it probably didn't help that I'd once dressed Turin as an uruk-hai and had him stand at her bedside. She scared him more than he did her, though, with all her hollering. Turin was so scared that he nearly fell out the window. Winnie just couldn't take a joke, apparently.

"You'd better take care of Faelon while I'm away," I said to her. "Don't let him get fat and lazy."

She huffed. "I won't."

As I continued to brush Faelon's coat, I could hear Winnie kicking her foot across the dirt, back and forth, back and forth, and I began brushing along to the rhythm. I knew what she was trying to do, and it wasn't working. Eventually, she gave up her attempts to annoy me into submission and just started stomping the ground violently. If she was going to insist on being treated like an adult, then she had to stop acting like such a baby all the time.

"Why can't I go?" she shouted. "It's not fair!"

"You're too young," I answered bluntly, my attention still focused on Faelon.

"You think I'll be a burden?"

"I know you'll be a burden, and I have enough to worry about already."

"You won't have to worry about me," she argued. "I can take care of myself."

At that, I dropped the brush and turned toward her. She was standing tall, shoulders back, with her hands placed firmly on her hips. Mother had taught her well; if I'd been an eight-year-old child, I would've been terrified.

"You're not coming," I said again. "If anything happens to you, Mother will never forgive me, so you're staying here, where it's safe."

"But—"

"My decision is final. You're staying here. End of discussion."

Bunching her hands into fists, Winnie gave one final stomp, screamed that she hated me, and then stormed out of the stables. I wanted to run after her, but I knew it was best to just let her go. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually she would understand why I did what I did. I just hoped I would be alive to see that day.

I wasn't surprised when I failed to see Winnie's face in the crowd as we prepared for our departure. Turin told me not to worry about it, that she would return to her normal, happy self by the time we got back. He was in an awfully good mood today, probably because he was eager to see the gift Lord Elrond had for him. As we stood with our fellow elven companions, he kept shifting his weight between his feet and biting his lip, but when he started cracking his knuckles, I'd finally had enough.

"Turin, be patient."

"I want my sword already."

"What makes you think you're getting a sword?"

"What else would he give a great warrior?"

I wanted to laugh, but something else had far too tight of a hold on my attention. Just next to me, I could see Thranduil's son coming toward us, dressed in his usual hunting attire, but this time he brought weapons: a great bow fastened to his back and a pair of blades that he'd sheathed just prior to joining us. I watched him closely but discreetly as he walked past Turin and me.

"He's coming too?" Turin groaned. "Don't we have enough elves already? There will be no orcs left for me to kill."

"There's something weird about him," I said, completely overlooking Turin's previous comment. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

"I just want to put my fingers on my sword," Turin replied, his eyes glazed over. Why, I'm sure in his mind he was holding his great sword now, raising it high and watching the sun reflect off the steel blade.

At last, Lord Elrond came to us, prompting us both to stand as tall we could, like the honorable warriors we hoped to become. Turin's face was strong, stoic, but as soon as his prized sword was placed in his fingers, he turned into a stuttering fool. A real elven blade, as beautiful as it was strong, it was enough to bring the boy to tears.

"The sword of my dreams," he said before thanking Lord Elrond graciously. Then he gripped the hilt and delivered his first blow to an unseen enemy, probably an orc. When he was satisfied, he sheathed his sword and smiled. "It's perfect."

Then Lord Elrond stood before me, and it was my turn to get excited. I thought back to the gifts the Fellowship had received from Lady Galadriel. In my heart, I greatly wished for a bow, though I was inexperienced with one's use. Or a sword would've been just fine, one like Turin's—or better. Eventually, I decided that any weapon would suffice, but I couldn't help but be disappointed when I saw the tiny blade that was placed in my hands. It was barely half a foot in length, and skinny too. How was I supposed to slay orcs with such a small blade? I tried to smile, but my lips eventually fell to the weight of my frown. Lord Elrond noticed my distress immediately.

"You are not impressed," he observed.

"I just hoped it'd be a bit bigger. This is but a dagger compared to Turin's sword."

"Yes, it is small," he said with a small smile, "but do not underestimate its power, just as we should not underestimate yours."

My face slowly broke into a grin. "Oh, I get it now." And with newfound respect, I admired my weapon and thanked Lord Elrond for his gift.

"Mine's better," Turin muttered under his breath.

I smirked. "We'll see about that."

Along with my dagger, I received another gift. In the garden, Indilwen presented to me an ornate crystal vial that housed a shimmering liquid of some sort. I first believed it to be the light of Eärendil's star, the very same gift Lady Galadriel gave to Frodo in Lothlórien, but Indilwen soon dashed those hopes.

"It is not the same," Indilwen said. "This is water from the fountain of Irmo and Estë."

I raised an eyebrow. "Water? To drink?"

She laughed softly. "You may drink it if you'd like, but it holds a greater purpose."

"Oh, thank you," I said as I carefully placed the vial inside the leather pouch at my waist. "I'll make good use of it," I promised, though I still didn't quite understand its importance. Maybe it was another secret of the elves.

At the gates of Rivendell, Lord Elrond, joined by all the elves of his council, bid us farewell and safe journey on behalf of all elf-kind. This was a monumental moment for me, and I couldn't even describe the effect it had on my heart. I felt proud and humble at the same time for being granted such an important task. But then I was sad, for I had still not seen my sister. I wouldn't get to say goodbye.

"Come, Anariel," Turin said, placing a light hand on my shoulder. "It's time to go."

With a heavy sigh, I walked through the gates with my companions, Legolas leading the way. It seemed he'd already appointed himself the leader of the expedition despite his lack of a formal invitation. Perhaps this was the will of his father, still wanting to keep the fate of the amulet in his family's hands. Well, he could lead us all the way to Rhûn if it would please him, but when the time came, I was going to be the one to destroy the amulet, not him.

As we crossed the great bridge, I was stopped by a faint voice, a familiar voice. Turning around, I saw Winnie, red-faced and panting, running toward me with tears in her eyes. I rushed to meet her at the bridge's end, where she crashed into my arms and began to sob quietly.

"Promise me you'll come back," she begged.

I hugged her tightly while fighting back my own tears. "I promise."

"And we'll go home together?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'm sorry I said I hated you," she muttered into my shoulder. "I didn't mean it, I swear!"

"I know you didn't." Then I pulled away and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Take care while I'm away. And be a polite guest to Lord Elrond; don't give him any trouble."

She sniffed. "I won't."

I smiled and wiped the tear that fell from her eye. "I'll be back before you know it." Then I gave her one last hug. "I love you, Winnie."

"I love you, too."

She remained on the bridge as I walked on, waving her pale hand in the air, a sad smile on her tear-stained face. When she finally disappeared from my view, I felt pain in my heart. I was never one to break a promise, especially to Winnie, but there was a great chance I'd have to. I couldn't guarantee my return; I couldn't guarantee anything at this point. Hopefully, she would forgive me one day.


	8. The High Pass

**To the High Pass!**

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><p><span>Chapter 8: The High Pass<span>

Out of the valley we climbed, and then we kept on climbing, up and up. Elladan said we would be taking the High Pass across the Misty Mountains, a dangerous path but an efficient one. Well, it was efficient for the elves in our party, at least. They traveled the rocky terrain with light feet, barely disturbing the ground beneath them, and with every wobbly step I took, I grew more and more envious of the elf-folk. Legolas was the worst, moving so quickly that with just one of my steps, he was already six paces ahead. As I lightly grazed the hilt of my dagger with my fingers, I wondered how fast he would be able to run if I chopped off his legs. Turin would've been pleased at this, for we would finally have the legless elf he was always going on about.

To think, all this time I'd never said even a word to the elf, nor he to me. Whenever I saw him, he was usually wandering around alone, his eyes looking off into the sky, seeing something my mortal eyes denied me. I'd attempted to ask him about it once, while we were still in Rivendell, but something stopped me from approaching him. It wasn't that I was scared; I was just ... uncomfortable with the idea of being that close to him, for reasons I didn't quite understand myself.

Beside me, Turin was still fiddling around with his sword. First, he simply held it in his hands and gazed at the blade, but then he started swinging it around in front of him, later tossing it from one hand to the other while doing so. Behind us, I could hear the twins talking about him.

"What do you think, Elladan," Elrohir asked his brother, "will he lose a finger or a toe?"

The elf gave a short chuckle. "Both."

"Don't underestimate him," I said in his defense. "He's not as stupid as he looks."

"Was that meant to be a compliment, Anariel?" Turin asked. "Because it—"

Just then, Turin's sword slipped from his fingers and pierced the ground just inches away from his right foot. The clumsy fool was still for some time, staring down at his sword with wide eyes as his lips muttered, "Whoops." Then, amidst the twins' snickering, he flashed a bashful smile before drawing his blade and sheathing it. "It's awfully cold up here, isn't it?" he casually went on, scratching the top of his head.

It was cold, very cold, and the higher we climbed, the colder it seemed to get. I'd been given a cloak from the elves, but despite its warmth, I still shivered against the biting wind. Still, I fought on even as my toes froze in the snow that covered the path. It wasn't the light, fluffy, fun snow that I used to play in during the winter; it was heavy and very difficult to trudge through—or at least it was for Turin and me. Once again, the elves, with their springy steps, had the advantage over us mortals. As we fought through the knee-deep snow, they strode on top of it, leaving not even the faintest imprint. It was absolutely fascinating, so much that I hardly noticed the numbness of my feet.

"What I wouldn't give to have been born an elf," Turin grumbled as he shoveled some of the snow from his path with his hands.

"I wonder what it would be like," I replied, allowing my mind to get swept up in the thought. "It'd be amazing, I'm sure."

As I dreamt of my elf life, the snow around me began to melt away, and in its place grew a field of silver, long and smooth to my touch, billowing like the waves of the sea. I giggled as I swept my hands against the grass, the leaves gently tickling my palms. It looked so soft and warm, like it was inviting me to a long, peaceful slumber. Eventually, I succumbed to its seduction and fell face-first into something that was surprisingly far from the bliss I'd imagined; in fact, it stung my cheeks a bit.

"What are you doing?" a voice called, shattering my perfect illusion. A hand gripped my collar and pulled me up from the snow, though clumps of it still clung to my face until I shook them away. As the hand spun me around, I was brought face to face with a most bewildered Elladan. Next to him, Elrohir was laughing hysterically.

"You were prancing around like a fool," Elrohir said, copying my movements. With his hands floating at his side, he skipped around the snow, humming and giggling to himself like some silly girl. Surely, I hadn't been acting that ridiculous, but the more I thought about it, the more likely it became.

Elladan pushed his brother away, and then he turned to me, his face full of concern, and asked, "Are you all right?"

My face flushed. "Y-Yes, I'm all right. I just had a little tumble. Really, it didn't hurt at all."

"Perhaps we should rest a while."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Legolas turn around, his eyes flashing to me for a second before pulling back to the entire group, and he said, "We cannot afford to stop now. Night is fast approaching, and then these mountains will fall into shadow."

"We cannot make it across before nightfall," Elrohir interrupted. "It is impossible."

"But we will make it as far as we can," Legolas replied before continuing on, his pace escalating to a run. "Come, hurry!"

"Well, he's in a rush, isn't he?" Elrohir observed as he broke into jog. After three steps, he turned around and, still running, joked, "You'd best hurry, or you'll get left behind."

Elladan placed a hand on my shoulder. "Can you continue?"

I weakly nodded my head. "I'm fine."

But he wasn't satisfied with my answer, so he stepped in front of me and crouched down, instructing me to climb onto his back. As soon as those words left his mouth, my cheeks became inflamed, melting the snow that lingered on my face. Still, I obeyed his request. With my arms draped around his neck and my legs at his waist, I felt like I was going to faint. Turin looked like he was about to be sick as well.

"I can carry her, you know," he said as he fought to keep up with Elladan.

"I don't mind, really."

"Yes, but she's awfully heavy, isn't she? You see, she has a fondness for cakes, eats way too many of them for her own good. She's becoming quite plump as a result, which I'm sure you've noticed."

"Turin!" I yelled, giving him a fierce glare. He had no right sharing my eating habits with strangers, Elladan least of all. He was making it seem like I was some glutton who sat in the corner stuffing her face with cakes and pastries all day—which, of course, I wasn't! I simply enjoyed treating myself to them from time to time. I knew restraint!

"She's not heavy at all," Elladan said, putting my worries to ease, but then Turin just had to keep going.

"You say that now, but soon she'll be too much for your scrawny elf muscles."

The elf shot him a glance and said with a laugh, "Scrawny elf muscles? Let us not compare strengths, little boy."

"Little boy?" Turin reached for his sword. "How dare you mock me, you—you—you—" With his hand gripping the hilt, he tugged and tugged with all his might, but his sword would not budge an inch.

"You've let your blade freeze," Elladan observed as he walked past Turin, who stood in the snow, still struggling with his sword.

"Come along, Turin," I called over my shoulder. "You don't want to get left behind, do you?"

Eventually, he gave up on his sword and caught up with the rest of us, but his bitter feelings toward Elladan did not cease; in fact, they were magnified tenfold. He made it his mission to best him at whatever he could, and today, he was going to prove that he could run faster. It was quite sad to watch actually, but he was certainly determined, barreling through the snow like a madman. Gradually, and I suspect out of sympathy, Elladan slowed his pace to allow Turin his victory at the top of the pass.

"Little boy, huh?" Turin boasted, flexing his arms and cracking his knuckles loudly. "Don't underestimate me, elf."

Elladan ignored Turin's comment and gently lowered me to the ground. Once I was stable, he joined his brother and Legolas in discussion while Turin and I stayed behind, anxiously watching the darkening sky.

"The winds have turned against us," Legolas said. "A storm is approaching."

"I could've told you that," Turin grumbled as he struggled to keep his hood up. "Oh, the unrivaled wisdom of the elves."

I slapped his shoulder with a light hand, an act that probably hurt me more than it hurt him. It was so cold that the sudden impact brought a painful sting to my hand, reducing me to a groaning idiot doubled over in agony.

"What did you do?" Turin asked, curiously staring down at me.

"Nothing." Biting down on my lip, I straightened myself and buried my hands within my cloak.

"We cannot stay here," Elladan said. "We must find shelter."

"The Mines of Moria!" Turin exclaimed, throwing his fist into the air.

I shook my head. "Turin, we are far from Moria."

"Never mind, then," he said, slowly retracting his hand.

I looked around, searching through the white wall of snow as the wind spat daggers of ice at my face. It started out faint, hardly even visible, but the more I squinted my eyes, the clearer it became. A small crack in the mountain, a cave perhaps. Legolas must've noticed it too because he was soon leading everyone toward it, but not without great caution.

"Everyone, stay on your guard," he said. "There is no telling what evils lurk inside."

"Goblins," Turin guessed, "and trolls, but they're no match for me." Again, he tried to draw his sword, and again, he failed miserably. "Oh, come on!"

Inside the cave, it was dark and cold. With my eyes, I couldn't see how deep it went, and I didn't care to know. I'd always been told to fear the unknown, and not until now did I fully understand what that phrase meant. I would've rather come across eight hungry trolls than face whatever the darkness hid from me.

Elrohir drew a battle axe from his belt. "I'll fetch some firewood."

"You have an axe," I observed. "I thought only dwarves used axes."

"I have a fondness for all weapons," he replied, making known his vast collection, which consisted of several daggers, an axe, a bow, and a sword. "You see, this axe belonged to a rather dumb orc we came across on our way to Midgewater."

"So you stole it."

He seemed offended by my statement. "Stole? Never. I like to think of it as a prize for my victory. Besides, he won't be needing it anymore, will he?" Throwing me a quick wink, he strolled out of the cave, whistling a little tune to himself.

As we waited for Elrohir's return, Elladan and Legolas distanced themselves from the rest of us and engaged in a quiet Elvish conversation. Turin and I, as we huddled together to keep warm, watched them both with bitter envy, like children who were prohibited from sitting at the adults' table during feasts.

"Some fellowship," Turin spat. "It's obvious they don't see us as equals. We're just a nuisance to them."

"We just have to prove ourselves," I said, "which means you need to stop acting like such a fool."

"I haven't been! Look, we don't need those elves anyway. We could do this together, just you and me."

"You know that's not true, Turin. They might not need us, but we definitely need them."

He sighed. "I know. I just hate admitting it to myself."

I laughed. "So do I, Turin."

After ten minutes of being left out of the conversation, I'd finally had enough and marched over to them. As I approached, the two elves stopped talking and turned their attention to me.

"We're in this together, are we not?" I said fiercely. "We're all part of this fellowship, so there shouldn't be any secrets between us. Anything said should be spoken to everybody, in a common language. Don't exclude us like we're children."

"But you are children," Legolas said harshly as Elladan walked away. "You have no idea what you are getting yourselves into. From here, the road gets more difficult, and you could barely make it up the pass."

"We made it just fine," I argued, but he wouldn't listen.

"If you are smart, you will turn back once morning comes."

My eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you'll take the amulet, then."

"What?"

"Look," I said firmly, "I know we're young and inexperienced, but I've accepted this task, and I intend to see it through, so I will not go back—I cannot—until the amulet is destroyed and Middle-earth is safe. If you want the amulet, then you're going to have to kill me because I'm not giving it up."

My first conversation with the strange elf was not a pleasant one, but I felt stronger and more confident in my resolve. I left him standing alone with his silence and returned to my spot next to Turin, who was mocking Elrohir as the elf attempted to make a fire.

"You're doing it wrong," he said. "You'll never keep the flame going long enough."

"I have lived much longer than you. Trust me, I know how to make a fire."

"I grew up in poverty. Believe me, I can make a fire with just about anything."

And so, snatching Elrohir's dagger, Turin took over and began shaving down some of the branches. Then, after gathering all the filings, he set the nest atop the pile of branches and started striking the dagger with the flint rock that the elf had been using. It took only a few good whacks before a spark fell and ignited the kindling. While gently blowing on his tiny flame, he continued to feed it more branches, and in a matter of moments, a great fire was burning. After situating his final logs and branches, Turin stepped back to admire his work.

"I believe I have proven my worth," he said with a satisfied smile.

"I could have done—"

Turin shoved his open hand in front of Elrohir's face. "Say no more! Your silence is thanks enough."

Taking his dagger back, Elrohir sat down next to the fire and began muttering something in Elvish. Although I couldn't understand him, I had a pretty good idea of what he was saying. Turin, however, didn't seem to care because he was far too preoccupied with his glorious fire, something he would probably hang over Elrohir's head until our journey was finished—or he found something better to use.

That night, we all sat together by the fire, and it seemed like we were finally a united fellowship. Of course, Legolas was hardly paying attention to any of us; instead, he spent the entire night either glaring into the darkness or staring out the cave's entrance, lost in his thoughts. I didn't care, though, because I didn't want to hear him speak anyway. I'd heard quite enough of his voice already, enough to last a lifetime in fact. When the elf finally walked off alone, I was glad to see him leave.

"It still won't budge," Turin growled as he fought to free his sword from its sheath.

"You should lick it," Elrohir suggested as he tore off a piece of elvish waybread. "Your saliva will melt the ice."

Turin's face lit up with fascination. "Really?"

The mischievous elf nodded his head. "Yeah, it's what I always do."

Just as Turin was about to lick his sword, Elladan roughly shoved his brother, who fell onto his side, laughing himself to tears as he choked out, "I can't believe you were actually going to do it!"

Turin's face reddened with embarrassment, and then, fueled by rage, he at last freed his sword with one mighty pull and pointed it straight at Elrohir's nose.

"Oh, relax," the elf said while he sat up. "I was just having a bit of fun."

"I will not be made a fool of," Turin warned as he slowly withdrew his sword.

"You do that yourself," Elrohir countered, quickly ducking his head beneath Turin's attack path. The boy's sword just narrowly missed the top of the elf's head.

"That's enough, Turin," I said. "Let's all settle down for the night, okay?"

Sheathing his sword, Turin plopped down next to me with a grunt as Elrohir snickered to himself. Already, I knew those two were not going to get along.

"You should get some sleep," Elladan said to me. "We'll be heading out early tomorrow."

"Dawn, if Legolas has his way," Elrohir interrupted, "which he probably will."

Yawning, I rested my head on the ground, using my arm as a pillow, and tried to sleep, but it wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be. The ground was hard and very uncomfortable; already, I could feel pain in my side. How could anyone sleep soundly on the ground? My question was quickly answered by Turin's quiet snores. The ground was a familiar bed for him, and if he could sleep on it, then I had no right to complain. Tucking my legs into my chest, I closed my eyes and slowly drifted into an adequate slumber.

Sometime in the night, I was disturbed by a strange noise, a soft clicking sound, like when the chickens escaped into the great hall, an incident I had nothing to do with. Their talons made a similar noise on the stone floors, but as I stared around me, I saw no chickens or birds of any kind. Jumping around the cave floor was a tiny bat-like creature with thin, leathery wings that fluttered behind it as it hopped about, its claws chattering against the ground each time it landed. It seemed to be enjoying itself, but as soon as it spotted me watching, it fled into the darkness, running on all fours.

Rising from the ground, it took me only a few seconds to comprehend what I'd just seen and then a few more to make the foolish decision to chase after it. Scrambling up from the ground, I raced to catch up with the bizarre creature as it escaped down a tunnel.

I ran lightly so as not to frighten it, and I eventually found it trapped in front of a dead end. Murmuring frantically to itself, it jumped and jumped, each time getting no higher than a few inches off the ground. It was then that I noticed its injury. One of its wings was broken, torn almost completely in half, so while the other wing flapped furiously, the broken one merely twitched beside it. It was one of the most heartbreaking sights I'd ever seen.

"You poor thing," I said as I knelt in front of it. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

The creature soon abandoned its efforts to escape and fell to the ground, panting softly as its chest heaved. By now, I was confident enough to attempt to make contact, so I very slowly extended my hand out to it. At first, it backed away from me, pressing its body hard against the wall, but once my fingers were right in front of it, it came forward and sniffed my hand.

"Aren't you sweet?" I cooed as it gently took my index finger in its tiny clawed hands and sniffed me again. Then, opening its mouth to reveal a complete set of razor-sharp teeth, it suddenly clamped down on my flesh, biting me so hard that it could've severed off the tip of my finger.

"Oww!" I screamed, shaking my finger free from its mouth. Giggling to itself, the creature ran around me and disappeared, but I didn't care to follow it anymore. "That little—!"

After that incident, I decided it was best to return to the others before I did something even more stupid. Wiping off my bloody finger on my cloak, I rose to my feet, coming face to face with a pair of yellow eyes, which, as frightening as they were, were nothing compared to the teeth that later emerged. Apparently that little monster wasn't the only little monster in the cave, and this one didn't have a broken wing.

"Easy, easy ... I'm not a threat," I said as I slowly backed away.

It remained calm for a while, watching me with an innocent curiosity, but as soon as my heel kicked a stray pebble, its yellow eyes became hostile, and it emitted a screech so loud that it hurt my ears. Screaming, I spun around and attempted to escape, but I was immediately pulled back a hoard of tiny winged beasts who latched onto my hair and cloak, pulling with all their might. I was no match for their collective strength, and I was brought down fast, leaving me completely vulnerable to their assault. All at once they attacked me, clawing and biting at my arms and legs as I tried to fight them off. One even attempted to rip the amulet from my neck, but I managed to slap it away just in time. Finally, using the last of my strength, I struggled to my feet and escaped from the tunnel, battling against the creatures with my bitten hands. I was running so fast that I was hardly paying attention to where I was going, and soon I crashed into something as strong as stone.

"What are you doing?" I heard Legolas ask as he grasped my shoulders and pulled me away from him, forcing me to look into his confused eyes.

"There are beasts in there!" I cried. "Vicious monsters with wings and sharp teeth!"

Without another word, he released me and walked into the tunnel from whence I came, soon returning with a rather mild expression. "There is nothing there," he said.

My jaw dropped. "Of course there is! Look at these bite marks all over me! Do you think I did this to myself?"

Taking my arm, he closely examined all the small bite marks on my skin. There must've been at least twenty of them, and he didn't overlook a single one. Then he lifted my chin and studied the marks on my neck, his confusion growing with each mark he came across.

"Now do you believe me?"

Again, he cast his eyes into the tunnel, glaring straight through the darkness. Then he suddenly pulled back, his eyes wide and alert, and said, "Start running."

"Do you see them? Do you—" My words were cut short when an arrow came whizzing past my head. I yelped and stumbled back in shock. "Goblins!"

"Go, get the others!" Legolas yelled as he drew his bow and began firing arrows back into the tunnel.

Needing no further encouragement, I raced back to the cave's entrance where everybody waited, fully awake and weapons drawn. When I told them that goblins were attacking, they were far from surprised; in fact, Elrohir already had an arrow ready and fired it toward the ceiling just above me, bringing a goblin's corpse crashing to my feet. Wasting no time, the elf grabbed his battle axe and tossed it to me, but as the blade neared my fingers, I panicked and let it fall to the ground.

"You were supposed to catch that."

"I'd rather keep my hands," I replied as I bent down and picked up the axe.

Legolas emerged from the tunnels with a stampede of goblins at his back. While I was scared half to death, Turin and the twins were most pleased and eager to engage in battle.

"Finally!" Elrohir cheered in between shots. "It has been ages since I've fought goblins!"

"What is your lifetime record?" Elladan asked as he slashed through a goblin with his sword.

"Eight hundred and forty-seven," his brother answered, delivering another arrow straight into the skull of an unsuspecting goblin. "Forty-eight."

"I can best that."

Elrohir grinned. "I gladly welcome the challenge."

I was distracted from their playful banter when I heard footsteps behind me. Spinning around, I took Elrohir's axe and drove it right into the chest of my goblin attacker. Gurgling on his own blood, the goblin collapsed to the ground, taking the axe with it. To brace myself, I placed my foot on the dead goblin's flimsy chest plate as I tried to pull the axe from the his corpse. Amidst my tugging and pulling, another goblin appeared in front of me. Instinctively, I reached for my dagger, but before I could even unsheathe it, an arrow was launched into the goblin's neck, and he too fell at my feet.

"Eight hundred and fifty-one!" Elrohir called.

"Make for the exit!" Legolas shouted as he started pulling back.

Again, I tried to remove the axe from the goblin's chest with little luck. Upon my third attempt, Turin grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the cave with him. In the dim morning light, we raced down the mountain, Elladan leading the way while Legolas and Elrohir fought off the pack with their deadly arrows. When the sun had fully risen above the horizon, we were at last safe, for the goblins had retreated back to their dark cave to await their next victims.

"Eight-hundred and sixty-two," Elrohir declared, hopping down next to me. "Now, where is my axe?"

I bit down on my lip. "... It got stuck back in the cave."

His eyes widened. "What? Back in the cave? But that was one of my favorite weapons ..." Then he glanced behind him. "Five minutes. Time me."

"What ...?" Before I could even finish speaking, Elrohir raced back up to the cave to retrieve his precious axe. "He's crazy!"

Everyone used Elrohir's personal mission to take a short rest. Turin collapsed to the ground, panting louder than he'd ever panted before. Elladan, having underestimated his strength earlier, was quite surprised by Turin's skill with a sword. "With more training," he said, "you could be a very talented swordsman."

Turin beamed. "Yes, I will."

At last, Elrohir returned with his axe, and his first question was, "What was my time?"

"Five minutes," Elladan answered, "and eight seconds."

"Damn!" Elrohir cursed. "You should deduct five seconds for every goblin I killed. I'd be well under four minutes, then."

"I would," his brother said as he rose to his feet, "but you failed to establish those conditions beforehand."

Together again, we continued down the High Pass, Legolas in front and quiet as ever. In the back, the twins were still bickering about Elrohir's final time, and Turin was once again fiddling around with his sword. It was like nothing had changed. Only the bite marks on my skin reminded me of the dangers in the cave, and I still wondered just what those creatures were.

"What are all those marks from?" Turin asked, giving me only half his attention.

I pulled my arm into my cloak. "I'd rather not talk about it, Turin."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Please, review!**


	9. Hitting the Mark

**Alright, first of all, I just want to thank everyone that has reviewed so far. I can't tell you all how much I appreciate it. Second, I want to apologize for all the delays. School is pretty demanding, and I don't have as much free time as I'd like. That being said, enjoy the next chapter!**

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><p><span>Chapter 9: Hitting the Mark<span>

The rest of the road down the Misty Mountains was quite pleasant compared to yesterday's travel. The air was cold but gentle, the wind blowing no harder than a soft breeze, just enough to nip at my eyelids when they started to fall. I was very tired, but it was fairly easy to stay awake between the twins' loud arguing and the constant fear of being stabbed by Turin's flying sword. At one point, he nearly nicked my arm while trying to perform some trick. To prove the dangers of his carelessness, I snatched the sword right from his hand and started swinging it wildly in front of his face, just narrowly missing the tip of his nose.

"Stop it, Ana! That's not a toy, you know!"

"Then quit playing with it!" I shouted, shoving the end of the hilt into his chest. "Keep it sheathed until you really need it."

"But I need to practice."

"So practice with one of the twins when we stop to rest."

To me, it sounded like a great idea. Turin would be able to improve his swordsmanship, and the twins would have to stop arguing about Elrohir's official axe retrieval time, an argument that should've ended a long time ago, but neither elf wanted to submit. The twins, having heard my comment, stopped their bickering for a moment to address my proposal.

"I wouldn't mind training him," Elrohir said. "I've always wanted a pupil to take under my wing."

"I wish to be nowhere near your wing," Turin replied fiercely, "but I want to learn, so I suppose you'll have to do."

"Excellent!" I said, clapping my hands together. "It's settled, then."

Elrohir brought his hand up and interjected, "I'll train him only if Elladan accepts my official time of three minutes and forty-eight seconds."

"I accept," Elladan replied quickly. "Now, let us be done with this."

Despite the rough start, it seemed like our fellowship was finally starting to come together. Whatever hostilities Turin had toward the twins were brushed aside to make room for the, as Elrohir had coined, "clean slate." But as I walked on, watching Legolas from behind, I remembered that I had my own slate to clean, though I would've preferred it to remain filthy. While my anger toward him was completely justifiable, I still felt like I was largely to blame for the goblin incident. If I hadn't chased that creature down the tunnel, I wouldn't have alerted the goblins with all my screaming. A proper lady knew when to admit she was wrong, and if I was such a lady, I would have marched over to Legolas, apologized for my behavior, and begged for his forgiveness, as was just and proper.

Well, Mother had always said I wasn't a very proper lady, so there was no point in acting like one now!

I shook my head. No, that wasn't right. I had to apologize because I didn't want any tension within the fellowship. I wanted ours to be just like the Fellowship of the Ring, with bonds so strong, they could withstand anything, so for that sake, I began to approach the elf while preparing my apology.

Honestly, I wasn't very good at apologies, especially when I didn't feel they were rightly earned. He should've been apologizing to me. After all, he was the one who joined the fellowship completely uninvited and then started barking orders at everyone. And then to speak to me so rudely, the nerve of that elf! Why, he acted like he was royalty, and I was just one of his subjects. I was of noble birth! ... perhaps not as noble as others, but noble enough to deserve the respect of some hunter-elf!

I'd worked myself up so much that I didn't even want to apologize anymore, but just as I was about to back away, I heard Legolas's voice in my ear, asking, "Do you wish to speak to me?"

"No," I answered, "it's nothing."

"How are your wounds?" he went on, slowing his pace so that I could walk alongside him.

"They don't hurt much," I answered with a shrug. "I'll live."

His sudden concern for me was most unanticipated. I thought he was just going to use the incident to further prove his point. _"Now can you see?"_ I could practically hear his voice in my head. _"This task is too great for a mere child."_

"The creatures that attacked you, they had wings?" he inquired, recapturing my attention.

"Yes, bat-like wings. The creatures were so small, though; I couldn't see how they'd be harmful. They just looked so ... innocent."

"You cannot always trust your eyes, for they are vulnerable to all sorts of spells and trickery."

His words brought silence to my lips, reducing my response to a mere head nod. Although I hated to admit it—and I would never say it to him—he was right. I was much too naïve for something like this, too inexperienced in the ways of the world, but there was no going back now. I could only fight on and hope to somehow scrape by with my life.

By midday, we reached the end of the pass and soon stopped for a rest. As previously negotiated, Elrohir was going to take this time to teach Turin the ways of the sword, something Turin was most eager to learn. While Legolas wandered off alone, I sat next to Elladan, excited to watch and hopefully learn some vital tips for my own use.

"So," Turin said while he stood across from Elrohir, lazily kicking the dirt as he grew impatient, "when are we actually going to—"

As fast as lightning, the elf drew his sword and pointed it straight at Turin's bare throat, so close that if he were even to swallow, he'd be scratched by the sharp blade. With his eyes wide, Turin stumbled back and stared at the elf in disbelief.

"What the hell was that for?" he hollered.

"Draw your weapon," Elrohir ordered, "or fall here."

"What? I've asked you to train me, not—"

Elrohir responded with a quick attack, one that Turin was just barely able to dodge. Ducking out of the way, Turin dropped and rolled across the ground, springing up on the opposite side of his elf mentor. Breathing heavily and visibly angry, he at last drew his sword and began his counterattack, cutting nothing but air as the quick elf evaded each strike with no more than a simple sidestep. With the first clang of their swords, it was clear that this was going to be one intense training session.

"Attack with the intent to kill," Elrohir said as he lunged forward and swept his blade cleanly across Turin's left bicep. Once I saw the blood begin to drip from his arm, I became very worried.

"He's not really going to try to kill him, is he?" I asked Elladan.

"Of course he will," the elf casually replied, "but if the boy is as strong as he seems to be, he will survive. You needn't worry."

I turned my eyes back to the action, expecting to see one of them dead on the ground by now, but they were grinning and laughing, even as their bodies bled and ached. They were very much alike, Elrohir and Turin, though neither of them would ever admit it. They loved the thrill of battle and fought for the very sport of it. It didn't matter if it was to the death or simply for fun, each man was happiest when holding a weapon in his hand. If the two weren't so set on hating each other, they probably would've been great friends.

As I sat on the sidelines, I couldn't help but be a little envious. Of course I was happy for Turin, but I wanted to learn to fight as well, and I was just as capable as he was. Even though I was a girl, I had no intention of acting like some damsel who needed everyone's protection. I too wanted to prove my worth; all I needed was the opportunity ... and that opportunity came when I felt a soft nudge on my shoulder. Glancing up, I was most surprised to see Legolas standing before me, bow in hand, gesturing for me to follow him. Although I didn't know what to expect, I couldn't resist the urge to comply, so I went with him into a small wooded area near our camp.

"Have you ever shot a bow before?" he asked, holding his bow out in front of him.

"Never."

He nodded his head, sliding his fingers across the upper limb of his bow. "Would you like to learn?"

My heart fluttered. This was like a dream come true. An elf, an elf of all people, was going to teach me the art of archery. Of course, I'd always hoped that Elladan would be the one to train me, but I certainly wasn't about to turn down this lesser elf's offer. I'd seen his skill, and he was certainly talented enough to become my mentor.

"I'd love to."

"Good. We shall start now."

When that mighty bow was placed in my hands, I thought I was going to faint. Never before had my fingers touched something so extraordinary, and I couldn't help but take a few minutes to admire its design, comparing its beauty to the bow of the Galadhrim that was given to the elf in the Fellowship. Granted, I'd never seen the bow with my own eyes, but I'd always imagined it to look something like the one in my hands.

"Prepare your stance," Legolas instructed. "Feet shoulder-length apart, weight evenly distributed."

When I was comfortable in my stance, the elf tested my balance with a single poke to my forehead, instantly stealing my footing.

"You have placed too much weight on your heels."

I quickly settled back into my stance and finally had the balance necessary to withstand the assault to my forehead. Satisfied, he took an arrow from his quiver and showed me how to properly nock the arrow onto the bowstring. Then, taking my right hand, he placed my middle three fingers on the string, situating the index and middle fingers around the nock, leaving enough space to avoid pinching the arrow.

"Keep your thumb tucked into your palm," he said as he gently curled my fingers so that my first joints were all aligned. "Relax the back of your hand."

Honestly, I felt completely awkward. The bow itself was almost as long as I was, and it was much heavier than I thought it'd be. My arm could barely hold it up. Still, I wanted to prove that I was able, so I showed little frustration on my face.

"Now," Legolas went on as he stepped away from me, "using your back muscles, draw the arrow."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep, calming breath before attempting to draw back the arrow. Now, I wasn't sure if I was necessarily using my back muscles, but I was using some group of muscles to pull the string, and they must've been very weak because I could barely move it at all. It seemed so much easier in my dreams—a quick, simple pull—but this was impossible. No matter how many muscle variations I attempted, I couldn't draw the arrow. I felt like my fingertips were going to rip off from pulling so hard.

It was sometime during my tenth attempt that I let my eyes wander over to where Legolas stood with his arms folded over his chest and an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Immediately, I suspected foul play.

"This is a trick," I realized, letting the arrow flop to the ground as I released my grip. "You've brought me out here for a laugh. What is it with you elves and your games of torment? Honestly, I expect this from Elrohir, but not from you."

"I meant no offense," he said gently as he stepped forward and retrieved the fallen arrow. "That bow has a draw weight of one hundred and fifty pounds. I knew you would not be able to draw it, but I did not tell you because I thought it might dissuade you from trying."

At first, I wanted to snap his cherished bow over my knee, but as he explained himself, I realized that I lacked the strength to maintain my anger.

"You should've told me," I said with a sigh. "I've wasted all my strength for nothing."

Ready to give up, I attempted to return his bow, but he wouldn't take it. Instead, he handed me the arrow and told me to nock it again. Even though I knew it was pointless, I did as I was told, and once the arrow was properly nocked, Legolas stepped behind me.

"I will draw the arrow," he said as he covered my hands with his, taking all the weight of the bow upon himself. "You just focus on aiming, okay?"

I felt my body stiffen once his chest pressed against my back, and although I certainly had no interest in the elf, I couldn't stop the heat from rising to my cheeks. With his hand over mine, he effortlessly pulled the string back until I could feel the string on my cheek and his hand against my jaw. From this proximity, it was almost impossible to deny the warmth of his skin, which was neither rough nor soft but somewhere perfectly in between. I was so mesmerized by the elf's skin that I forgot that I was supposed to be aiming, so when he told me to release the arrow, it went whirling through the air, flying a course that avoided every tree in the area; in fact, I didn't even hear it make contact.

"Were you aiming?" he asked, his hands still touching mine.

"Of course."

"At which tree?"

"Umm ..."

To the right of us came a soft clapping sound as Elrohir led the rest of our company through the wood, stopping just a few feet away from us. Once Turin saw me, his eyes became clouded with confusion, though I couldn't understand why. Was only he allowed to become a skilled warrior? Was I supposed to just let him have all the fun while I sat around doing nothing? Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen.

"Well," Elrohir said as he leaned back against a tree, "at least you don't have to worry about her wasting any of your arrows."

At that remark, I pulled away from Legolas and returned his bow, careful to avoid eye contact out of both shame and embarrassment. My first attempt at archery was a complete failure, and now everybody probably thought I was even more useless than before.

"It was her first try," Legolas said in my defense. "Her skills are bound to improve."

Elrohir nodded his head. "Yes, I don't suppose she could get any worse."

Elladan punched his brother's shoulder. "That is enough."

"Oh, I'm just playing with her. Of course she'll improve. She just needs a better teacher, that's all. What do you expect her to learn from a second-rate archer?"

The wood fell silent, thick with tension, and a small smirk began to grow on Legolas's face, though his eyes remained fixed on his bow as he gently traced over it with his fingers.

"Are you challenging me?" he eventually asked, still not lifting his gaze.

Elrohir grinned. "I am. Do you accept?"

The elf finally glanced up from his weapon. "I do."

"Then I believe this calls for a competition!" A most pleased Elrohir then turned to his brother and asked, "Will you join us? It's been a while since you've taken the bow."

My eyes, once veiled with disgrace, were now clear and alert, watching the twins with great interest. An archery contest was just what I needed to prove Elladan's identity. The elf from the Fellowship was an unrivaled archer, and once Elladan won the competition, there would be no question that he was that very elf. And then I would finally be able to declare my undying admiration to him. It was perfect!

Elladan shrugged. "I've never much cared for archery, to be honest."

And just like that, my perfect plan went up in flames. Didn't care for archery? How was that even possible? Sure, I'd noticed that he didn't carry a bow, but I never thought anything of it. I just assumed he'd forgotten it or something.

"But you're an elf," I said without thinking, seeing no harm in such an obvious statement.

The elf set a fierce glare upon me and replied rather curtly, "So because I'm an elf, I should prefer a bow over a sword? I suppose I should sing and dance as well. Would that better fit the epitome of how an elf should be?" Then he left us in a fit of anger, stopping only once to say, "I want no part in your silly games, Elrohir."

Once he was gone, I lowered my eyes to the ground, overcome by guilt. "I didn't mean to offend him."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Elrohir said with a light laugh. "He's just overly sensitive about that sort of thing. He'll get over it soon enough and return to the stoic elf we all know and love." Then he pulled out one of his daggers. "That being said, I guess this will be a simple duel, Legolas."

Turin stepped forward. "You've overlooked me."

"No, I haven't," the elf replied, granting him not even the slightest glance. "This is a competition for experts. Anariel is more qualified than you are."

Turin clenched his fist in anger but delivered no further argument. Glaring at his elf mentor, he came to my side as the two elves prepared for their competition. With his dagger, Elrohir moved from tree to tree, marking the trunks with fist-sized circles. There were seven targets in total, with the last so far away that it was barely a speck to my eyes. While he was away, I let my thoughts drift back to camp, where Elladan likely sat, still angry with me. I shouldn't have spoken so impolitely to him. I knew better than that! A lady was to always consider her words carefully before speaking them aloud, especially to a man. Now, Elladan would probably never speak to me again.

"I'm sorry," came a voice I wasn't expecting to hear. Elladan stood at my other side, his grey eyes looking down at me, an apologetic smile on his face. "I know you meant no harm. I overreacted, and for that, I apologize."

"No, I shouldn't have said that," I admitted. "And I'm glad you don't sing or dance because that would contradict your character."

He chuckled and nodded his head. "I suppose it would."

I smiled up at him, grateful to be back in his good graces. Although he wasn't the elf I sought, I still had a great deal of respect for him. But even though Elladan was strong and handsome, my elf was still out there somewhere, and I had to keep my eyes open if I was ever going to find him.

"So who do you think will win?" I asked Elladan.

He shrugged. "Hard to say. Both are pretty evenly matched in skill. Legolas is a better marksman, but Elrohir is a bit quicker on his release. It should be an interesting competition, regardless."

As Elrohir returned from marking the final and very distant tree, he announced, "This competition will test each elf's speed, range, and precision. There are seven targets in the forest, the last standing roughly two hundred yards away. The goal is to hit all the targets in the least amount of time. For every target missed, two seconds will be added to your final time, so mind your aim. The archer with fastest time will be declared the winner."

Legolas nodded his head. "Sounds simple enough. Who will shoot first?"

Elrohir brought a finger to his lips and thought for a moment before finally saying, "Turin, go stand in front of that tree beside you."

"What? Why?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, just do it."

Hesitantly, Turin walked up to his designated tree and stood with his back to the trunk, his eyes wide and flickering back and forth between the two elves who now stood in front of him.

"The archer whose arrow falls closest to the top of his head may decide the order."

"Agreed."

Turin's eyes bulged. "Are you mad? I won't let you shoot at my head!"

"We're not shooting at your head," Elrohir replied calmly as he prepared his arrow. "We're shooting at the tree."

"But—but—but—"

Elrohir raised his bow. "Just be quiet and stand very still."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Turin pressed his back as tightly into the tree as he could, his fingernails digging into the bark and his lips quivering with fear. Taking aim, the elf took one sharp breath and then, upon exhaling, released the arrow, firing it straight into the trunk, less than an inch from Turin's trembling skull.

My jaw fell. "That was a good shot."

Elrohir was quite skilled with a bow, much more than I'd previously thought. Why, his skill was almost comparable to ... I clasped my hand over my mouth. It wasn't possible! There was no way that Elrohir was the elf I was searching for. But the more I thought about it, the more likely it became. He looked just like Elladan, and although his personality didn't quite match the one I'd envisioned, his marksmanship was undeniable.

I was so busy convincing myself that Elrohir was the elf from the Fellowship, I didn't even notice Legolas take his shot. It wasn't until Turin returned with a small clump of hair in his hand that I realized Elrohir had been defeated.

"Stupid elves," Turin growled, letting his hair fall to the ground. "For their sake, it had better grow back quickly."

Rising to the tips of my toes, I closely examined the hair at the top of his head, noting the small section that was significantly shorter than the rest.

"Is it very noticeable?" Turin asked.

I pulled back. "Kind of."

He frowned. "Well, that's just great."

Just ahead of us, the two elves were ready to start the competition. For reasons unknown to me, Legolas had chosen to go first, which to me seemed like a disadvantage, but then again, what did I know about archery?

Elladan, who'd been asked to serve as the judge, was standing behind them, waiting to give the signal.

"Ready?" Elladan called. "Go!"

In one swift motion, Legolas drew his arrow, took aim, and fired straight at the target, hitting the very center. With a single blink of my eyes, he was already aiming at his next target, firing another perfect shot. As he raced through the forest, his arm seemed to be in constant motion, loading and firing arrow after arrow, never missing a step. Three, four, five, six targets he hit, and for the seventh, he took an extra second to secure his stance before launching his final arrow into the air. If he'd hit or missed the target, I certainly couldn't tell, but the smile he wore upon his return suggested the former.

"Well done, Legolas," Elladan praised. "Ten seconds."

"Ten seconds?" Turin shrieked. "That's impossible!"

I stared at the elf in amazement. This was clearly no second-rate archer.

"An excellent time," Elrohir agreed, taking his place at the start, "but a beatable one, nonetheless."

"We shall see," Elladan said as prepared to give the signal. "Ready? Go!"

Before Elrohir's start, I thought it would be impossible for him to beat Legolas's time, but once he'd released his first arrow—a fraction of a second faster than Legolas, according to Elladan—I began to think otherwise. Elladan was right. His brother was a much faster shot than Legolas; in fact, I never even saw him nock his arrow. It was like it just appeared right out of thin air. Who were these elves? Such a feat shouldn't have been possible!

"Well," Elrohir said with a grin as he returned from his final shot, "what was my time? Come on, tell me, tell me."

Elladan sighed. "Nine seconds."

"Yes!" Elrohir cheered loudly. "That's a hair faster than I estimated."

"It is an excellent time," Legolas admitted, though he still wore a confident smirk, "but how was your aim?"

"Yes," Elladan said, "let us see."

Together, because Elrohir wanted many witnesses to ensure he wasn't cheated in any way, we traveled to each of the seven trees. The first six targets were similar in appearance, all bearing two arrows in the center, practically side by side. With each target checked, Elrohir grew more confident. He himself led the way to the final target, running like an eager child in search of sweets, but once we reached the tree, he was left with a very sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, for on that tree sat Elrohir's final arrow, just outside the circle he'd carved himself.

Elladan placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Perhaps you should have taken that extra time to aim."

"Yeah, yeah," Elrohir grumbled as he ripped his arrow from the tree. Then he gave a small flick to the feather of Legolas's arrow, which marked the circle's very center. "You're an excellent marksman, Legolas, one of the best."

Yes, he certainly was talented, very talented. If this contest had served its desired purpose, then the mystery was solved and Legolas, son of Thranduil, was the elf I sought, but I just couldn't accept that. He was so strange, so unlike the elf of my dreams. Surely, this was but a fluke!

As I obsessed over my little predicament, the three elves continued to discuss the final scores of the duel, while Turin grumbled about not being included. But all that stopped as soon as I felt something slice across my cheek, moving so fast that I mistook it for the wind at first, but then I saw the black arrow that penetrated the tree, its feathers a deep red, just like the warm blood that had begun to trickle down my jaw.

"Anariel!" Turin was at my side in a second, cradling my bleeding face in his hands. "My goodness, you could've been killed!"

"His intent was not to kill," Legolas said as he ripped the arrow from the tree and closely examined it. "If it was, he would have surely succeeded."

"Are we being attacked by orcs?" I asked, the initial shock finally wearing off.

"Not orcs," Legolas answered, throwing the arrow to the ground. "An elf."

"An elf?"

"He's near!" Elrohir exclaimed, his eyes traveling far ahead of us. I tried to follow his gaze but saw nothing but trees, hills, and mountains. Then, without warning, the elf broke into a mad dash, heading straight toward the wood from whence we came.

"Elrohir, don't!" Elladan shouted, but his warning went ignored by his brother, who was already raging far ahead. "That fool!" he growled as he too took off running.

Before long, everybody was racing through the wood, desperately trying to reach Elrohir before he did something stupid. According to Elladan, Elrohir was always one to rush into battle without first assessing his opponent. That impulsiveness, Elladan feared, would one day get his brother killed, and once I noticed the trail of blood that soaked the ground, I worried that his moment had finally come.

The trail led us right back to camp, where Elrohir sat propped against a rock, his hand clamped tightly around his left side, but that wasn't enough to stop the blood from leaking through his fingers. Despite the great pain he must've been feeling, he still wore a smile on his tired face.

"We may have a small problem."


	10. Campfire Stories

**Thanks for the reviews!**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 10: Campfire Stories<span>

"He's strong," Elrohir choked out while his brother addressed his injury. Carefully, the elf inserted the leaves of a strange plant into the two-inch dagger wound. Elrohir winced and pressed his head back against the rock behind him. "He's fast. He's really fast."

"You should have known better than to face him," Elladan said as he reached for a small flask and brought it to the injured elf's lips, letting the clear liquid drip into his mouth. "You were reckless."

The elf coughed. "You're starting to sound like Father."

"At least one of us does."

Elrohir flashed a weak, crooked smile. "You always have, even when we were young. You were always so boring, so careful. Every little action required meticulous planning. Without me, you would've never accomplished anything, like that time we stole those horses—"

Elladan abruptly smacked the side of his wounded brother's head. "Stop reminiscing," he said upon rising. "You are not dying. Fortunately, your stupidity will live on, but hopefully you will learn to be a little wiser next time."

"Ow!" Turin yelped, ripping my attention away from the twins and back to the cut on his bicep. It was really just a scratch, but he was acting like he'd nearly lost his arm.

"Oh, settle down. It's just water, anyway."

He too had taken quite a beating. His little training session with Elrohir had left him with several shallow cuts along his arms and chest, but they weren't life-threatening. Of course, he wouldn't believe that. In his mind, he was in critical condition and needed serious medical attention. Why, he looked like a complete fool next to Elrohir, who despite having lost a great amount of blood, resisted care until his brother threatened to snap his bow in half. But Turin the Great was practically begging me to take care of him, so there I sat, with a torn piece of my dress, cleaning the wounds of the seventeen-year-old baby with a bit of the water from the vial Indilwen had given me.

"What is that?" Turin asked after I'd finished cleaning the cut on his bicep.

I picked up the vial and held it between my fingers. "Um, I think it's water from some fountain in the Undying Lands."

"What? You've given me elvish water?" He made it seem like I'd given him poison. "I don't want that wretched stuff coursing through my veins."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want your wounds cleaned or not?"

Turin grumbled. "I guess."

"Then be quiet," I said as I moved on to his other arm, and he was quiet, but not for long.

"So I've been thinking of some names for our fellowship," Turin went on.

"Names?"

"Well, yes, every great fellowship needs a name. My first thought was the Fellowship of the Amulet, but that just sounded lame to me, so I considered the Great Fellowship of Elves and Men, but then I realized that was too long, so I came up with the Erudin-Rivendell Alliance, but that didn't have quite the ring I was looking for, so I eventually settled on Turin and Friends."

I blinked. "Turin and Friends?"

Turin grinned and nodded his head. "Sounds great, right? That's something that will resonate forever in the hearts of men and elves alike."

"Turin and Friends?" Elrohir interjected. "I'll be damned if I let you take all the credit for my deeds!"

Turin growled. "Oh, why don't you just die already?"

At that remark, the angry elf reached for a dagger from his belt, but his brother quickly stopped him. Safe on the other side of the fire, the overconfident Turin was still provoking Elrohir, calling him a coward among so many other terrible names. Knowing the elf could've easily killed him, I gave Turin a hard smack. "Enough. His wound needs to heal."

"His wound? What about all mine? I knew sooner or later you'd end up taking their side."

"Their side? This has nothing to do with sides, Turin. I'm looking out for the health of our fellowship. Everybody needs to be at their best."

"Right, is that why you were snuggling up with that archer? Tell me, is he in good spirits?"

My cheeks flushed as I threw the blood-stained cloth at his face and stood up with a huff. "You're just mad because you weren't allowed to take part in their little elf game."

"I am not," Turin argued, but when he saw me walking away, he started to panic. "Hey, where are you going? You haven't finished cleaning my wounds. I could get an infection and die!"

I stared up at the night sky as I strolled across the camp. It felt too early for the moon and stars to be out, much too early.

"The days are getting shorter," Elladan commented as he joined me. "Soon, the sun will cease to rise, and darkness will consume the land."

"Unless I destroy the amulet." I let out a heavy sigh. "That's a lot of weight to put on my shoulders."

Elladan placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "This is not something you must bear alone. We're all in this together, are we not?"

I surveyed our great fellowship. Elrohir was already gravely injured, Turin was acting like he was about to die as well, and Legolas, well, he just never seemed to be around. Even now, I couldn't find him anywhere. So far, our great fellowship wasn't proving to be very effective.

I threw my eyes to the woods once more. "Where's Legolas? He always seems to find a way to distance himself from the rest of us."

"He has his own burden to bear," Elladan replied. "Guarding the amulet has been the responsibility of his family for centuries, and now that the amulet has been taken from the chest, he must see that the amulet is destroyed, not only for the sake of the world, but for the sake of his great family's name."

I cringed a little. Why did I have to open that chest? No wonder Legolas was so cold to me before. I'd single-handedly destroyed his family's reputation! ... whatever reputation that was.

"It's awfully quiet out here," Elrohir commented as he lazily chucked tiny pebbles at the fire. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen a single dwarf or hobbit since we've been here. We passed through the Shire and saw nothing but men tearing up the land."

"Middle-earth is not as you left it, I'm afraid," I replied. "Much has changed. Most of the hobbits have been enslaved by men, and the dwarves forced far into the North. Some tried to flee to Rohan, but I suspect they were caught either by orcs or by men. It's hard to say which fate is worse."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Turin said as he bit off the very end of his waybread. After making a face and swallowing, he went on talking. "After King Elessar died, his son came to rule. He was a great king, loved just like his father, but he was also foolish, for only a fool would so easily trust the council who'd sworn to support him. Less than fifty years into his rule, he was assassinated, though his murderer's identity remains unknown to this day. I have my hunches, but so does every other soldier and peasant in the kingdom.

"With King Eldarion's death, the throne became vacant, tempting anyone who dared claim it. And so the Reunited Kingdom, once glorious, became completely unstable due to the internal warfare of the nobles. One man would become king only to be slaughtered a few years later; the cycle never seemed to end, and the kingdom was practically worthless.

"Then, at last, the kingdom finally found peace when a man by the name of Tyrek laid claim to the throne just thirty years ago. But the kingdom's peace arose at the expense of others, mostly dwarves and hobbits, for with his newfound power, Tyrek decided to expand his territories, ignoring the will of Elessar. As of now, the only free territories are Rhûn, believed to be cursed, and Rohan, which is now ruled by a king who'd rather lay with his horse than take part in politics."

Turin stretched out against the rock behind him and folded his arms behind his head. "And that is where we stand today. Aren't you glad you came back?"

With the end of his words came a silence that was interrupted only by the crackle of the fire. The two elves wore matching expressions that could've easily passed for sadness or anger. I myself felt a great deal of both.

I slumped down next to the fire. "Is Middle-earth even worth saving?"

"Yes," Elladan said. "For the innocent, it is worth saving."

Elrohir sighed. "Well, I'm officially depressed now. Anariel, tell me a story, preferably one that's cheerful and doesn't make me want to fall upon my own sword."

I fumbled with my fingers. "Well, I'm not a good storyteller."

"That's all right. You're not a very good fighter either, but we've brought you along anyway." At that, Elrohir started laughing, and his brother smacked him.

"I'll tell you a story," Turin offered.

"I can't handle another one of your stories."

"No, this is a good story," Turin said and then cleared his throat. "In a brothel miles away from here, a whore gave birth to some drunk's bastard son. When the boy turned six, she took him into the forest to play and then left him with the promise that she would soon return. So the boy waited and waited, and when night fell, he realized she wasn't coming back. Turns out, his dear, sweet mother had grown sick of caring for him, and so she'd decided to leave him in the forest to die, that burden of a child.

"For days the boy wandered through the wood, eating bugs right from ground when his stomach made loud noises and burrowing into the mud when the night's got too cold, and they were cold. Some nights he couldn't sleep from shivering so much, and by morning all the feeling would be gone from his fingers and toes. He lost a toe to the cold, and nearly a second, but death did not take him. When all seemed hopeless, he stumbled across a small apple orchard, where a rather strange girl was attacking her servants with apples right from the trees."

Recognizing his story, my eyes passed over to Turin, who now wore a small smile on his face.

"Feasting off the apples, he watched as the girl drove away the servants and happily celebrated her victory. By now, the boy was so enamored with her that he'd nearly forgotten his hunger, and the apple just slipped from his hand. Not wanting to waste the meal, for his mother always said it was bad luck, he dropped to his knees and retrieved the apple from the ground. It was a little dirty but tasted just as good. And all his loud chewing must've alerted the girl because he soon found her standing right in front of him, angry. Then she started yelling, accusing him of stealing, and all the boy could do was stare back at her as he continued to eat. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even understand what stealing was. Apparently, it was a very bad thing because the girl suddenly started attacking him like a wild animal."

"Turin, don't make her out to be a monster," I interrupted. "She had every right to attack him."

"Anariel, you're ruining the story," Elrohir said, waving me off.

Baffled, I quickly fell silent, and Turin continued his tale.

"The girl's screams alerted the guards, and they came, armed with great swords. Do you think the boy was scared? Of course, he was terrified! But then the girl did something he did not expect. She ran out of the orchard, screaming at the top of her lungs, and distracted the guards just long enough for the boy to escape. She might've very well saved his life, something he will be forever grateful for."

"And what became of the boy?" Elrohir asked after a short silence.

Turin shrugged. "He's just a lowly stableboy now."

Elrohir gave a content sigh. "That was quite the story. Now, I have a story of my own. There was once a great elf who was seriously injured and required rest, but everybody kept on telling these silly stories, so the elf never healed, and he died. The end." He chuckled a little to himself.

Elladan tossed a pebble at his brother's head. "Then be quiet and rest."

As everyone began to settle down for the night, I crawled over to Turin and sat down beside him. "You never told me that story."

He shrugged. "It's not something I'm proud of."

"But you should be. You've overcome so much already."

"And look at me now," he replied, his dejected eyes never leaving the fire.

"I am looking at you," I said, pulling his face toward me, "and I couldn't be happier with what I see."

Turin pulled away, embarrassed, but he was happy again. "Okay, I get it. You think I'm amazing."

I grinned and nodded my head. "Oh, yes, absolutely incredible."

"Yeah, yeah."

Laughing quietly, I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Slowly, Turin brought his arm around me and pulled me closer to him. "I never did thank you," he said, gently resting his head against mine.

I smiled. "You don't have to."

"... Good."

I soon drifted off into a peaceful slumber that allowed me to relive all my childhood adventures with Turin, like the day we defeated the evil trolls who lurked in the kitchen. They'd captured Winnie and were about to eat her for dinner when we arrived to save the day. With his sword and my bow, we brought them down quickly and then plundered their wealth of potatoes.

My dreams were soon interrupted when I felt something moving across my lap. With a quiet groan, I opened my eyes to see the half-winged creature from the cave. Murmuring quietly to itself, it crawled about my lap and eventually settled on the pouch at my waist. With its tiny clawed hands, the creature yanked it open and pulled out the crystal vial. Bringing the top to its nose, the creature sniffed it a few times, pulled a sickened face, and then dropped it to the ground.

"Hey!" I yelled.

The creature let out a shrill scream and then took off running on all fours, its injured wing flapping behind it. After snatching the vial, I jumped up from the ground and took off running after it.

"You're not getting away this time!"

Fleeing into the woods, the creature scurried into the small hollow of a tree. Quickly, I dropped to my knees and and peered into the hole, searching through the darkness for the little monster. It got away. It got away again.

"I'll get you eventually," I muttered as I rose to my feet and dusted off my dress, "Half-wing."

"What are you doing out here?"

Upon hearing Legolas's voice, I whipped around to come face to face with the elf. "I was chasing after ..." I trailed off, glancing behind me, and debated whether to tell him the truth or not. "Never mind."

"You should not be wandering around alone."

"I know that."

Honestly, I felt really strange being alone with him, especially now that there was a slight chance he was the elf I sought. Even while he was lecturing me on the dangers of wandering around alone, I couldn't stop staring at him, wondering if he was the one. Almost everything about him contradicted what I'd imagined, yet I was supposed to believe that he was the great elf from the Fellowship? Impossible!

My thoughts were interrupted by a cold raindrop landing on my cheek. I'd just finished wiping it off when another fell in its place, followed by another and another. Soon, the frigid droplets were soaking my face as the sky came alive with flashes of lightning.

"Well, this is just great," I muttered angrily as I pulled up the hood of my cloak and started walking back to camp. "I'm never going to be able fall back to sleep now."

As I went to take my next step, a quiet crackling sound filled my ears, and my body began to feel all tingly. Brushing it off as nothing, I moved forward only to be yanked back into Legolas's arms just as a bolt of lightning struck the ground a few feet in front of me. It lasted only a second, and the colors were amazing, but none of that seemed to matter when I realized that I'd just nearly been burned to a crisp.

"We need to find shelter," Legolas said.

I weakly nodded my head. "Agreed."

We ran through the rain back to camp where everybody was already wide awake and well aware of the storm. Elrohir was still sitting by his rock when he looked up at the both of us with an annoyed look and shook his head. "Something bad always happens when you two are alone together," he managed to say just as his brother pulled him up from the ground. Still not strong enough to run on his own, Elrohir had to rely on his brother for support, something he wasn't too thrilled about from the look on his face.

"There should be a town nearby," I said as we started running through the wind and the rain.

Right along the banks of the Great River, we came across the high wooden gatehouse of Alundor. The blue city banner writhed in the wind, and the three silver fish of Alundor appeared to be swimming. Father once told me what the three fish represented: Honor, Loyalty, and Respect. "Respect for your friend," he explained. "Respect for your enemy. And, most of all, respect for nature. If you respect nature, it will respect you and bestow you with many gifts." Indeed the people of Alundor had much respect for nature. Father said every time they caught a fish, they said a prayer of thanks. By contrast, when the fisherman of Dale caught a fish, they celebrated by urinating in the water. Clearly, the men of Dale had little respect for nature.

I too was a woman of honor, loyalty, and respect, but tonight the situation was too dire for silly formalities. Coming forward, I pounded on the gate with my fist at least eight times before the gatekeeper opened a tiny door and poked his nose out.

"State your business," he grumbled.

"We seek shelter from the storm. One of our companions is severely wounded."

"Under the orders of Lord Aemon, nobody's allowed through the gate 'til morning."

My eyes bulged. "What?"

The gatekeeper responded by slamming the door shut right in my face. Fuming, I kicked the gate over and over, demanding him to open up at once. I was cold, I was wet, and I was tired, so even if I had to break down the gate myself, I was going to get through. Never provoke a stag!

"Listen, old man!" I hollered. "We have a very injured elf here. If you don't let us in right now, I'm going to take my dagger and shove it down your throat!"

At those words, the gate slowly began to open, and I backed away, huffing and puffing. As luck would have it, on the other side of the gate stood not the gatekeeper, but at least a dozen heavily armed guards who'd all apparently heard my threatening words. These honorable fish, I would later find out, had a very strict policy against threats of violence.


	11. Jailhouse Blues

**Hello, everyone! Again, I'm sorry there's such a long delay between chapters. Better late than never, though, right? Anyway, I know this is a pretty short chapter, but the next one will be longer and more eventful, I promise. Enjoy!**

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><p><span>Chapter 11: Jailhouse Blues<span>

"Well, at least we're out of the rain," Turin said as he carelessly drew circles across the dirty stone floor with his index finger. His comment received several dry stares from the other prisoners, some of which looked far from friendly. One man, I observed, was missing most of his teeth, and those that remained were black and rotting. I found myself subconsciously trying to suck my own teeth clean as I stared at him from the safety of our cell.

My little empty threat managed to get us all thrown into the town prison, an experience that was completely foreign to me. I suspect Erudin had a dungeon of some sort, but I'd never seen inside it. Given Turin's casual attitude, I could only assume he had. I didn't understand how he could've survived such conditions. Our cell was cold, damp, and dark, the only light source being the torches at either end of the dungeon. A putrid smell hung in the air, a mixture of sweat, dirt, feces, and decaying food, which I'd seen at the entrance. A loaf of moldy, maggoty bread and a spoiled pig carcass sat on the floor, and I just hoped it wasn't our future meal.

"You should have let me fight them," Elrohir grumbled to his brother as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I refuse to spill innocent blood," Elladan answered. "Besides, they were justified in detaining us."

"You're such a pacifist. We don't have time to rot our lives away in a prison cell." He groaned and threw his head back. "And they took all my weapons."

Above all else, I think Elrohir was most upset about that. All his precious weapons were sitting at the dungeon's entrance, currently being fondled by the guards, who were most impressed by the fine elven blades. Elrohir looked like he was about to explode, especially when one guard touched his prized axe. The elf was practically shaking with anger, but his brother's words forced him to exercise restraint. Only when the guards moved on to Legolas's bow did he finally relax. With their dry, cracked, dirty fingers the guards ravaged the beautiful weapon, and although he remained calm, I could tell Legolas was far from pleased. If only Turin could've been so calm when his sword was the one being fawned over. As soon as one of the guards took the blade in his hand, Turin jumped up from the ground and began shouting like a madman.

"If you break that sword, I will bust out of this cell and kill you with my bare hands!" Turin threatened, pressing his body tightly against the cell bars, as if he believed he could somehow slip through. "That blade is worth more than your measly lives!"

The guards all laughed. "Be quiet, boy."

Then a guard with a very tangled brown beard took the sword in his hands and mused, "A sword like this deserves to be wielded by a man, not some peasant brat."

"Peasant brat?" Turin exclaimed, tugging violently at the bars. "I'll make you eat those words, you big, hairy buffoon!"

Elrohir pointed a finger at Turin and complained to his brother, "Why is he allowed to get angry, but I have to bite my tongue?"

"Because someone your age should possess more restraint than a young boy."

But Elrohir's restraint met its limit when one of the guards started toying with his bow. Springing up from the ground, the elf joined Turin and started delivering a few threats of his own as he banged violently against the bars. Together, the two of them directed their anger, which was normally reserved for each other, at the guards and plotted their revenge. Meanwhile, the remaining elves were trying to distract themselves from the childish antics of their comrades. Whistling a little tune to himself, Elladan ignored his brother's attempts to get him to join their cause, while Legolas remained focused on the entrance, where a few of the guards were still playing with his bow.

Laughing together, two of the guards approached our cell, flashing crooked smiles as they taunted the elf and the boy with their precious weapons. One guard even started bashing Elrohir's bow against the stone wall, and he laughed hysterically at the elf's attempts to get him to stop. This was not how honorable soldiers behaved. They were no better than the prisoners they kept.

"What business do elves have in Middle-earth, anyway?" said the guard who held Elrohir's bow. "I heard you'd all abandoned this land for some sort of paradise across the sea. You think you can just come and go as you please?"

"I never much cared for the elf-folk," said the other guard. "A bunch of suspicious characters if you ask me, with all their secrets. They can't be trusted."

"You all act like you're better than the rest of us, with all your infinite wisdom."

"You've forgotten something," Elrohir replied with a smirk. "We're also better looking."

The guard's eyes narrowed. "Is that right?"

Stepping back, the guard examined the bow in his hand, letting his fingers brush across the upper limb. Staring directly into Elrohir's cold eyes, the guard calmly took the bow in both hands and snapped it across his knee. I cringed at the sound of it; it was like a bone breaking. As the other guard cruelly laughed, he then threw the two pieces of wood to the ground and, taking one of the torches off the wall, set them on fire. He met Elrohir's glare once more, returning it with a malicious smile, and then retreated to the entrance with the other guard.

Watching the remains of his bow burn, Elrohir began gripping the bars tighter and tighter, his fury matching the heat of the roaring flame. By now, Elladan had risen from the ground and stepped behind him.

"Elrohir, step away from the gate," he said.

The elf didn't move.

"Elrohir, don't do something you will later regret," he pressed, placing his hand on his brother's trembling shoulder to calm him, but the elf recoiled at his touch and then lashed out with rage, punching his own brother, his twin, square in the jaw. He was about to strike him again when he suddenly doubled over in pain, tightly clutching his left side. Cursing under his breath, the elf stumbled over to the opposite end of the cell and collapsed into the corner.

For a while, everybody was quiet, even Turin, who was now resuming his circle drawings on the ground. I wanted to approach Elrohir because I was worried about him, but I feared that I would become the target of his anger, just like his brother had. I was planning to wait for him to calm down, but when I saw him lift a bloody hand from his side, I abandoned my fears and rushed to his side. "You've reopened your wound."

"Yes, I know," he muttered. "Did it a while ago, actually."

"I'll get Elladan," I said, attempting to rise from my knees, but he quickly pulled me back down, shaking his head.

"No, don't bother. I'm fine."

"Elrohir."

"Really, I'm fine. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"But—"

"Please, Anariel. Just go."

Reluctantly, I obeyed his wishes and returned to my seat next to Turin. Elladan, rubbing his aching chin, watched his brother with sad eyes.

"That bow must've been very important to him," I said.

"It was a gift from our mother," Elladan answered. "I cannot even imagine the pain he must be feeling right now, but he needs to learn to control it. Another second and, well, things could have gotten very ugly."

"So you could get us out of here," Turin interrupted. "What are you waiting for? We don't have time to sit around, you know, with that sorceress waking up or whatever."

"There is no need for bloodshed," Elladan answered. "We will be released in time."

"Do not be so sure," Legolas rebuffed. "We were not imprisoned because of our actions. We were imprisoned because we are elves."

"It is but petty racism," Elrohir grumbled loud enough for us to hear.

Turin frowned. "Well, I'm not an elf."

"I suspect you are guilty by association," Legolas replied. "They do not trust us nor those aligned with us."

"But I don't even like you that much," Turin muttered before returning to his circles. "I knew we should've done this alone."

I sighed and fell back against the wall. So there was a chance we were never going to be released? I was going to spend the rest of my days locked away in some dungeon, while Valmoria's plague destroyed the entire world? Just how was I supposed to accept that? How could Elladan accept that? I understood his hesitancy to take human lives, but we couldn't just sit around doing nothing. Right now, all that mattered was getting to Rhûn and destroying the amulet.

"That's an awfully pretty necklace you got there," someone said to the left of me, his voice deep and raspy, like he hadn't had a drink in months. Turning my head, I saw a man with a long, thin face. Why, he looked like an absolute skeleton; he hardly had any muscle at all, and I could see the skin beginning to sag from his arms as he gripped the bars that separated our cells.

"It's been a while since I've seen something so pretty," he went on, bringing his face up to the bars, but his eyes were not on the amulet; they were on me, and I didn't like the way he was looking at me; it made my skin crawl.

"I've gone years without seeing the face of a beautiful woman, smelling their long hair, feeling the warmth of their skin." His lips curled into a yellow, crooked smile. "Tell me, how old are you, little dove? Can't be no older than sixteen. Why, I bet you've never even felt a man's touch yet ..." He slowly dragged his long tongue against the rusty bar. "Would you like to, little dove?"

Suddenly, Legolas's hand shot through the bars and grasped the back of the prisoner's head, slamming his forehead against the bar so hard that I saw it crack and bleed. Once thrown back to the ground, the prisoner rolled on the floor, laughing like a deranged man. His high-pitched, manic laugh seemed to resonate from the walls. Even if I covered my ears, I could still hear it.

I was just about to thank the elf for his help when I heard a voice at the dungeon's entrance, a voice that I'd hoped to never hear again. Lowering my head, I found myself fondling the betrothal ring that still marked my left ring finger. For a moment, I thought I was just hallucinating. He was supposed to be dead, after all. But the longer I waited, the louder his voice seemed to get. Even amidst the crazy prisoner's howling laughter, I could still hear that voice. And soon he was right in front of me, that devious young fox.

"Hello, Anariel."

I forced my eyes up from the ground, but I refused to look him in the eye. I wouldn't give him that pleasure. "Beinion."

"The guards spoke of a mad foreign woman threatening the gatekeeper, and somehow I knew it was you. It pleases me to know you're alive and well, Anariel, but it seems you've gotten yourself into trouble again. Thankfully, I was able to convince Lord Aemon that you are completely harmless. He's agreed to release you and your company, even let you stay in his keep."

"How kind of you," I muttered.

Beinion gave a subtle gesture to one of the guards, who reluctantly unlocked our cell. As soon as Turin rose from the ground, the first thing he demanded was the return of his sword. The guards were slow to comply, but another gesture from Beinion prompted them to return all our weapons. The guard holding Elrohir's axe was the very same who'd destroyed his bow, and when he returned the weapon, he had a most sinister glint in his eyes. The elf took his axe back but lingered in front of the guard for a while, just staring down at him. I thought for sure that he was going to attack, but he instead cracked a smirk and walked away.

"He's not worth it," Elrohir said as he and his brother climbed the stairs to freedom.

I was the last to take the stairs, with Beinion walking right behind me. I didn't have to look back to know he was smirking. His actions weren't done out of kindness, for the fox was incapable of kindness. Beinion was a selfish slug of a man, who only helped others when it best served him. He had something up his sleeve, and whatever it was, I knew it meant more trouble for me.


	12. The Feast

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p><span>Chapter 12: The Feast<span>

Led by Beinion, we passed through the gates of Lord Aemon's castle and entered the great hall. Well, to be honest, there was nothing particularly great about this hall; it had the warmth of a dungeon and smelled almost as bad. Even Erudin, a modest village, could keep a tidier hall than this riverside town. Alundor, I knew, was not poor by any means, and Lord Aemon was very respected, especially by my father, for he was one of the few noblemen able to preserve his integrity when everyone else became consumed by greed. But this was not a hall worthy of such an honorable man. He deserved fine tapestries and silver goblets, not broken windows and cracked tankards. Beinion, coming from one of the most elaborately decorated halls in the kingdom, looked absolutely disgusted to even be breathing the air, but he forced a smile when Lord Aemon appeared.

Like his hall, Lord Aemon wasn't at all like I'd pictured. He had the frame suited for a strong warrior, but the years had eaten away at him like the fungus that was feasting on his benches. Still, he had warmth, and to me, that was worth more than all the gold Beinion possessed. So let him keep his ornate halls and fine jewels. Even with all the wealth of the world, Beinion would still be the lesser man. For once, the fox was below the fish.

"Welcome travelers," Lord Aemon greeted us warmly. "I apologize for your previous accommodations. Since the last orc attack, we have had to take greater precautions to protect the town. I do hope you understand."

"Of course," Elladan replied, but his answer was joined by a curt Elvish remark from his brother. After throwing him a stern glance, Elladan went on to thank Lord Aemon for his gracious hospitality.

"It's the least I could do," he responded before setting his eyes upon me. "Anariel, my, have you grown. I was present on the day of your birth, you know. Everyone hoped you would be a boy, but your father could not have been happier to hold his baby girl in his arms. And now he has two beautiful girls. Tell me, how are your parents? Are they well?"

I managed a weak smile. "Yes, I hope so. We were separated in Archet when the orcs attacked, and I've received no word of them since, unfortunately."

He nodded his head. "Well, I'm sure they are perfectly safe. And what about you? May I ask what brings you so far from home?" As he spoke, his eyes passed across the faces of my company, undoubtedly questioning the presence of elves, though he made no comment about it.

"We are traveling to Rhûn, and I cannot say much more than that, I'm afraid."

"I see. Well, you must be on a very important quest. I'm sure your father would be most proud."

After standing unusually silent for so long, Beinion crept over to me and gently brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. I could feel his thumbnail tracing across my skin, scratching it lightly. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn't do that in Lord Aemon's presence, so I just had to bear it.

"We are all very proud of her," Beinion said, cupping my chin with his hand. "She is a fine young lady."

Slowly but subtly enough to avoid a dramatic scene, I pulled away from him and placed my focus on Lord Aemon. In rejection, Beinion maintained his calm exterior, but his anger was boiling beneath the surface. It would never boil over, though, not while he was in the public eye. No, he would never tarnish his reputation for some disobedient girl.

"You all must be exhausted," Lord Aemon went on. "Please, help yourselves to anything you desire. If you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."

"Lord Aemon is such a gracious host," Beinion said before placing a light hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure Lady Anariel would love a warm bath and fresh clothes. After all, we cannot have her walking around in filth, can we, my lord?"

"Oh, most certainly not." He gave his servants a short glance, prompting them to come at me all at once. There were at least six of them, all women, and they surrounded me like a pack of wolves ready to pounce on a helpless fawn. Some were taking my hands, others pushing against my back, but all were trying to lead me away from the rest of my group, and like the fawn, I struggled against them.

"My lord," I said as I was swept up by the mob of women, "a member of my company is injured. He needs to rest, please."

"Of course," Lord Aemon replied, waving me off. "He will be cared for immediately, I promise. Now, you go relax. Do not worry, your friends will be well taken care of."

I wanted to reply, but the servant behind me was shoving me so hard that it was impossible to get even a syllable out. Even the pace at which I was walking wasn't enough for her, so she kept pushing me along, and soon it felt like I wasn't even moving at all. I was like leaf caught in the wind—or, perhaps more accurately, a hurricane. Eventually, I abandoned my struggle entirely and allowed myself to be taken away.

"Make sure the water isn't too hot," one of the older servants warned the young girls who were busy filling the wooden tub. "I will not have a repeat of last winter's incident."

Meanwhile, I was practically being violated by the remaining servants. My baths at home were never so rushed and certainly not as forced, but these women were practically ripping the clothes off my body, and because the clothes were so fine, belonging to the elves, I was concerned for their welfare, especially when I saw them getting scooped up from the floor and taken out of the room. I would've said something, but then I noticed one of the young girls nervously fondling my sheathed dagger. With quivering fingers, she drew the blade and gasped. "A dagger, m'lady?"

"You can never be too careful," I replied, and when I saw another girl pull out Indilwen's vial, I quickly spoke up. "Please, be very careful with that. It was a gift."

She smiled. "I assure you, it is in very safe hands, m'lady." Then her eyes fell upon the amulet. "Oh, and your necklace."

"No!" I shrieked, backing away from her reaching hand. Immediately, my fingers tightened around the amulet, but when I saw the fearful look in her eyes, they began to loosen. "I'm sorry, it's just ... Well, this is a precious family heirloom. I never take it off."

"Begging your pardons, m'lady," she replied, and with her head held low, she quickly scurried out of the room.

"Come along, m'lady," the oldest, most forceful servant instructed as she pushed me toward the tub. "The water is the perfect temperature, with just a hint of lavender, and we have for you the finest soap from Pelargir."

"Thank you," I said, but apparently the woman didn't want to be bothered with pleasantries because she just kept shoving me along until I reached the tub. Once free, I took a moment to gage the water's temperature with the tip of my foot.

"Please, while it's still warm," she pressed, and then gave one last push that made me topple into the water. Thankfully, I managed to catch the rim before I did a complete nosedive.

"Take your time, m'lady, and if you need anything, just ask."

"Okay, thank"—I looked over my shoulder to find that she'd already left—"you."

Settling into the tub, I tried to relax and get comfortable. Just as the servant had said, the water was the absolute perfect temperature, not too hot nor too cold, and I could faintly catch the scent of lavender, something I definitely wasn't used to. Mother sometimes liked to treat her water with herbs that, according to her, helped maintain a youthful glow and prevented wrinkles. Honestly, all it seemed to do was make her skin smell funny. Once, she'd even broken out in this nasty, itchy rash that left her miserable for days. Oh, Mother would've died to have access to these luxuries: perfumed baths and soap that didn't leave your skin irritated. I spent a long time just smelling the small bar of soap; it was earthy and floral without being too overpowering, and it felt so smooth in my hand ... well, perhaps a little too smooth; it slipped right from my hand. Giggling quietly to myself, I fished the bar out of the water and started to clean myself, instantly noticing all the tiny teeth marks on my skin. There were so many, and they were so visible. I was surprised the servants hadn't screamed when they saw them. I looked like a wreck; I had scars and scratches everywhere, but I would've suffered a thousand more if it meant ridding myself of this one imperfection that marked my finger.

I had no idea why the ring remained on my finger. Since leaving Archet, I had tried so many times to remove it, but I could never seem to follow through. Even now, I wanted so badly to just rip it off, yet I continued to trace around it with my fingers. Was I scared? This ring was my shackle. I'd been wearing it since I was twelve, and by now it was practically cutting off my circulation, but I couldn't take it off. I'd always thought this betrothal ring was like the One Ring and Beinion was my Sauron. But who was I kidding? Even if I was standing right before the fires of Mount Doom, I still wouldn't have had the strength to release it.

I sighed and sank deeper into the water, my eyes passing down to the amulet around my neck. If I couldn't even rid myself of some silly ring, how could I find the strength to destroy the amulet? As I pondered this, I took the amulet in my hand and stared at the ruby embedded in its center. It was so beautiful, so alive, like a tiny fire was burning within it, and it was absolutely mesmerizing. Slowly, as I became completely entranced by the jewel, my eyelids began to fall, and I heard a woman's voice emerging from the silence, whispering in a strange tongue, Elvish maybe. I could hear it so clearly, like she was standing right beside me.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, making me jump and scream, but my fear was nothing compared to that of the young servant, who looked like she was suffering a heart attack.

"I'm so sorry, m'lady," she said breathlessly, still clutching her chest. "I was just making sure you were all right. You've been in here for over an hour. The water must be freezing."

"An hour?" I repeated, finding it hard to believe her words, but then I felt the chill of the water, making my body shiver.

"Please, get out before you catch a cold." Taking my arm, the servant helped me out of the tub and draped a soft, warm towel around me before proceeding to dry the rest of my exposed body. As she dried off my hands, she laughed a little to herself and said, "Your fingers have turned into prunes, m'lady."

I blushed. "I'm sorry, I got lost in thought."

"It's quite all right. Must've been some thought, though."

Before she was finished, one of the older servants entered the room and demanded to know what was taking so long. When the young girl attempted to answer, the woman waved her off and ordered that I be moved immediately into the wardrobe for dressing, and so, with my body still dripping wet, I was led into the wardrobe, where three older women were waiting. As soon as they saw me, they frowned.

"Why is she still wet?"

"This won't do at all."

Quickly, the young girl came over to me and finished drying me off, careful to avoid the watchful gaze of her superiors. When she was finished and the women were satisfied, she silently ducked out of the room.

"What shall we dress her in?" one woman wondered aloud, bringing a finger to her lips.

"Lord Beinion said he wanted her to look her absolute best."

"Youthful but elegant."

"Something modest but not dated."

One went over to a large chest and pulled out a green dress that looked like something Grandmother would've worn when she was my age. When she showed it to the other women, she was chastised right away for such a horrible decision.

"That frock is ancient and hardly flattering. Honestly, what are you thinking?"

"Well, I don't know ..."

"Put it back!"

The other two women scurried off to the opposite end of the room and started digging through various chests, vigorously searching for what they considered to be the perfect dress. Finally, after tearing through at least ten chests, one woman pulled out a red dress and said, "This is perfect. It'll even match that beautiful jewel around her neck."

They pounced again, stripping me of my towel, and then started stuffing me into the dress, which was probably an antique that belonged to the Lord Aemon's late wife, who'd tragically died of pneumonia three winters ago. Judging by the garment, she was a very elegant woman, who, unfortunately for me, had a waist much smaller than mine.

"Oh, dear," said the woman trying to fasten the back of the dress, "looks like somebody needs to cut back on the pastries."

My eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"

"Suck it in, child! Suck it in!"

"If I go any further, I'll crack a rib."

"Well, beauty is pain, m'lady."

All the women got a really good chuckle out of that one, but I was suffering. Yes, I was able to squeeze into the dress, but I certainly wasn't comfortable. Why did I even have to wear such a fine dress anyway? Why was this night so important? I tried to ask the women, but they just ignored me and sent me off to the great hall, which was surprisingly empty.

"Turin!" I called. "Elladan! ... Where is everybody?"

"You said they needed rest," Beinion said, emerging from one of the stairways, "and so they are resting." His eyes fell upon the dress that clung to my body. "My, my, you look absolutely lovely."

I took a step back. "Where is Lord Aemon?"

"He's busy making the preparations for the feast tonight."

"What feast?"

"Our wedding feast, of course. You can't have a proper wedding without a feast."

"Wedding?" I shook my head. "There was no wedding, you know that as well as I."

Apparently, though, none of that mattered. Whether we were married or not, there was going to be a celebration. Lord Aemon gathered the entire town, it seemed, and packed them all into the great hall for a spectacular feast, filled with great food, music, dancing, and, of course, all the alcohol a man could drink. I was seated between Lord Aemon and Beinion at the high table overlooking the entire hall. Our respective banners were strewn about the great hall; blue, gold, and green: the silver fish of Alundor, the red fox of Archet, and the white stag of Erudin. As part of tradition, Lord Aemon began the feast with a toast to the bride and groom, prompting everyone to stand and raise their tankards in honor of the new union.

"May they be blessed with good health, happiness, and prosperity for many years to come."

"And lots of children!" interrupted a man who'd clearly started to celebrate early.

Lord Aemon laughed. "Aye, with many children as well!"

I fought back the urge to vomit, but only because I didn't want to ruin the dress. Everybody was staring at me now, waiting for me and Beinion to drink from our goblets. I caught sight of Turin's face in the crowd, about three tables back, and he was just shaking his head at me. What was I supposed to do? Flip the table and run?

"Anariel," Beinion said, grabbing my attention, "we're supposed to drink now."

"Right."

Very slowly, I lifted my goblet from the table and brought the rim to my lips, but I refused to drink the wine; in fact, it never even touched my lips. Still, everybody cheered and drank from their tankards while I enjoyed my little act of rebellion.

Once Lord Aemon gulped down his entire goblet of wine, the celebration was in full swing and all the formalities were thrown out the window, along with a few drunks who couldn't handle their liquor. Thankfully, that window had already been broken when one man decided to test how far he could throw an empty ale cask. Turns out, he was able to throw it pretty far. Everything was being tossed around: food, benches, and even people. I witnessed a few fights, but none of them got too out of hand. They did, however, provide a perfect distraction for my escape. When one brawl nearly knocked over our table, I quietly slipped down from the dais and joined my fellowship at their modest table.

"Nice of you to join us," Turin said before taking a gulp of ale.

"That was a nightmare," I groaned, burying my head in my hands.

"You know, Anariel," Elladan said from across the table, "I had no idea you were married. I can't believe you didn't tell us. You said there would be no secrets in the fellowship."

"I'm not married," I growled, lifting my head, "and I will never be married!"

Too ease my frustration, I snatched Turin's tankard right from his hand and chugged it down. I was never particularly fond of ale, but tonight I felt like drinking away my sorrows.

"A lady shouldn't drink like that," Turin mocked.

I slammed the empty tankard down. "Oh, be quiet."

Turin laughed and stood up. "I'm getting another ale. Would you like another, you little sot?" He gently tousled my hair with his fingers.

I shoved him away. "Off with you! Go!"

As Turin strode off toward the casks, I turned to the two elves sitting across from me and quickly found myself being sucked into a most uncomfortable silence. Without Elrohir, the atmosphere just seemed less lively, less exciting. Already, I missed that elf.

"Where's Elrohir?" I asked.

"He's been put on bed rest," Elladan answered. "I suspect we won't be seeing him until morning."

Elladan kept on talking, but I couldn't hear a word he was saying because a really loud male voice had caught my ear. I followed the voice to the other side of the hall, where a certain elf had jumped onto one of the tables and was now cheering wildly, carrying with him a full tankard that kept spilling as he hopped around, daring anyone to challenge him to a drinking contest. "Come on, I'll drink you all under the table!"

I shook my head, laughing quietly to myself. "Well, I think he's feeling better."

"What are you talking about?" Elladan questioned, looking over his shoulder. With his sharp eyesight, it didn't take long for him to spot his brother, who was now gulping down his entire tankard as everyone cheered. Muttering under his breath, the elf went to retrieve his younger brother.

"His wound will never heal if he keeps this up," I said to Legolas. "And where is Turin?" I wondered as I searched around the hall. Eventually, I found him sitting a few tables away, engaged in a brutal arm wrestling match with a man twice his size. I wanted to see him lose—I knew he would—but then Legolas said something that stole my attention.

"Your marriage," he said, "was arranged, was it not?"

I bit down on my lip and reluctantly nodded my head. "When I was twelve."

"I do not understand," he went on. "Why marry, if not for love?"

I shrugged. "Some people don't have that luxury."

"It is not a luxury," he said. "It is a necessity."

I didn't even know how to respond to that. It wasn't just what he'd said; it was how he'd said it. His eyes had this intensity, this passion that I'd never seen before in anyone. Men and elves, I realized, had two completely different views on love and marriage, but how was I supposed to explain it so he'd understand? For men, marriage wasn't necessarily about love, and it often never was. Rather than a joining of two people, it was a joining of resources: land, wealth, power. But elves had no concern for such things. They were immortal. Life was limitless. Perhaps if we too were so blessed, we'd see marriage as something more.

"Are you married?" I asked without even thinking. Really, it just popped out of my mouth before I could stop it, but I couldn't deny the need for an answer.

"No," he said, and for some reason, I felt relieved.

"Why not?" I pressed. "You've had centuries to find someone, I'm sure. Somebody must have caught your eye by now."

Now, he was at a loss for words.

"It is not that simple," he eventually answered. "Besides, there is no harm in waiting."

I nodded my head. "Especially when you have all eternity."

"Yes, that does help," he replied, cracking the first smile I'd ever seen from him, and it was well worth the wait.

Honestly, I felt like a fool for judging him so soon. He certainly wasn't the condescending elf I thought he was ... well, at least not entirely. Never did I think, even in my wildest dreams, that I would be discussing topics like love with him and, worst yet, actually enjoying it. Maybe the ale was starting to affect me.

Speaking of ale, Elrohir was currently in the middle of a little drinking tournament, which seemed to include practically every willing man in the hall, and he was winning, too. After what had to have been hundreds of tankards, he was still completely lucid, as if the alcohol had absolutely no effect on him. But Elrohir's success marked utter defeat for Elladan, who was still trying to get his brother to rest. That clever Elrohir agreed to rest when, and only when, he lost a match, which wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. If he actually wanted to lose, then he could've simply taken a page out of Turin's book. Ten matches, and not a single victory. By now, Turin must've accepted his defeat because he was walking over to me with a pleasant smile on his face.

"Why are you so happy?" I asked. "You haven't won a match yet."

His smile only grew. "This is my first time being invited to a real feast, Ana. For once, I'm not hiding off in the shadows. Do you have any idea how great that feels?"

Seeing him so happy, I couldn't help but smile back. "Well, I'm glad."

"Really?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Enough to dance with me?"

Just like that, my smile faded. "No, definitely not."

"Oh, come on! The music is so lively. How can you just sit there?" Even as he was talking, he was bobbing his head to the music. It was kind of distracting, really. "Come on, Ana!"

"No way," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I can't even dance."

"Yes, I know. I've seen you try, and you're absolutely terrible."

My jaw dropped. "Turin!"

"But I don't care! I love that you have no sense of rhythm. Makes me look good."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"Well," he declared, taking my arm, "I don't care."

Before I could protest any further, Turin pulled me to the middle of the hall, where many had already gathered for dancing. At first, I just stood there awkwardly, completely overwhelmed by the music and the crowd, but then Turin took my hands and guided me along. I certainly wasn't graceful, and my feet spent more time tangling with Turin's than actually dancing, but I was having fun. Round and round, we danced and eventually stumbled across the table at which two of our elven companions were sitting.

"You call that dancing?" Elrohir said as he sat upon the table.

"I'd like to see you do better," Turin challenged once we finally parted.

The elf shook his head. "Love to, but can't. You see, my brother and I are trying to fight all the stereotypes of elves. If I start to dance, then our battle will have been for nothing. I will, however, welcome you both to a drinking contest. Currently, I'm undefeated, and if you're as skilled at drinking as you are at arm wrestling, I'll have yet another victory under my belt."

Turin smirked. "You're on."

The elf grinned and passed his eyes to me. "What about you, Anariel?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I've had enough to drink for one night."

"Fair enough," he replied with a shrug. "Oh, and congratulations on your marriage. I wish you many years of happiness."

Marriage. Just the word made me nauseous, and I had to quickly leave the area. On my way back to the table, though, I saw something even more sickening. A young woman, scantily clad and well-endowed, had taken my seat across from Legolas and was now busy flirting with him. Her actions alone weren't revolting; it was the jealousy I felt watching her. Jealousy! Over an elf who, not too long ago, I wanted to push off a cliff, drown in a river, or strangle with his bow. What did she see in him anyway? He wasn't anything special, and his looks were barely above average compared the other elves I'd seen. Of course, she didn't know that because he was probably the only elf she'd ever seen in her life, so it was an easy mistake to make. Still, even as I thought this, I had to resist the urge to go over there and dump an entire cask of ale onto her head.

_On second thought, maybe I could use another drink_, I decided and, upon turning, came face to face with Beinion, making me gasp and stumble back.

"I have been looking everywhere for you, Anariel," he said. "You know, a proper wife remains at her husband's side during a feast."

"I am not your wife, and you are not my husband. I never spoke the words."

I tried to walk away, but Beinion grabbed my wrist, squeezing it so hard that the bones could've easily broken. Whether or not that was his intent, I couldn't be sure, but he definitely didn't want me going anywhere.

"That is but technicality, my dear," he said. "Come tomorrow, you will return with me to Archet, where we will be married, whether you like it or not."

I ripped my arm away. "I will not, and you cannot make me. You have no power here, Beinion."

Right away, I could tell I'd made a huge mistake. All the signs were there: his body had gone rigid, his jaw was clenched, and his hands were slowly tightening into fists. For a second, I thought for certain that he was going to strike me, but then his body relaxed, and his lips formed a calm smile. That smile was the last thing I saw before he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. It happened so fast that it didn't even register in my mind until I felt the throbbing pain in my cheek. The pain, although great, wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was looking him in the eye after it'd happened and seeing all the pleasure he got from my pain.

"In a man's world, Anariel, I will always have power over you," he said as he turned to leave. "Never forget that."

I stayed there for a while, my eyes passing across the wall of faces, and not one person came to my aid. Were they so drunk that they hadn't even noticed? Did they even care? There were dozens of people all around me, and I was supposed to believe that not one of them had seen him hit me. Was this the reality I had to accept? That a man could freely strike a woman in public without being reprimanded? The men all probably thought he was justified in hitting me, that a woman should never speak out against her husband. What honorable men.

I couldn't take it anymore; I had to get out of there, so I pushed my way through the crowd and made my way to the front doors, which were being guarded by two very drunk soldiers, who seemed more interested in the dancing women than the protection of the castle. Thankfully, the person passing through was just a weak, helpless girl and not a bloodthirsty orc. They let me by without so much as a passing glance.

While inside, I was able to remain strong, but once outside, I completely fell apart. As much as I hated wasting my tears on someone like Beinion, I just couldn't help it. I felt helpless, trapped; no matter what I did, there was no escaping him.

"Anariel?"

I recognized Legolas's voice immediately, and I tried really hard to compose myself, but once I looked into his eyes, I deteriorated into a sobbing mess of a girl.

"It'll never stop," I cried. "Even when this is all over, I'm still going to be right where I started. But I just can't do it ... I'd rather die than go back to that!"

Again, I reached for the ring, and for the first time, I actually believed I had the strength to pull it off. But when I tried, the ring was so tight on my finger that it wouldn't even budge. I'd already missed my chance. Still, I fought with it, tugging and pulling as hard as I could, and just when I started to consider amputation, a hand grasped mine, Legolas's hand.

"This is your life," Legolas said, his fingers closing around the ring; effortlessly, he dragged it down my finger until it was dangling on the tip. "Live it as you wish to live it."

Shaking the ring off my finger, I watched it fall and bounce twice against the stone before rolling out of sight. Just like that, it was gone, and I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Flexing my free hand, I gazed up at Legolas, who was standing before me with an unidentifiable expression on his face, his eyes fixed on the welt beginning to form on my cheek.

I looked away. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt much."

"Lying will not make it heal faster."

"Neither will crying about it."

Slowly, he took my chin and raised my eyes to his. For a long time, he just stared at my cheek, but then he reached his hand forward and began to trace around the reddened flesh with his fingers, making me wince a little.

"Forgive me," he said, letting his hand fall.

"For what?"

"For not being there to stop him."

I couldn't help but smile, though I immediately regretted it once I felt the pain in my jaw return. While there seemed to be no decent men in the world, at least there was a decent elf.

"Ana!" Turin called, stumbling out of the hall in a drunken stupor. "Victory is mine!" he declared proudly before collapsing to the ground in a fit of giggles.

I stifled a laugh and said to Legolas, "I'd better get him back inside before he hurts himself."

Turin was still trying to pick himself up from the ground when I reached him. Throwing his arm around my neck, I took his weight upon me and guided him back into the hall as he babbled on and on about how he'd defeated Elrohir. I was only partially listening because the other part, the larger part of me, was still very much focused on Legolas, who remained outside.

Back inside, only a few people were still celebrating, while the rest were passed out either on the floor or the tables. One table was particularly interesting, for it consisted of two men who were finishing an arm wrestling match upon the chest of their sleeping friend. Occasionally, he would turn over, forcing the two to start over again.

I sat Turin down toward the end of the hall and propped him against the wall, but he didn't stay there for long and soon toppled over. I would've moved him, but he was already fast asleep and snoring loudly, so I just let him be.

"A fine lady such as yourself should not sleep on the ground," Beinion said, approaching me from behind. "She deserves a warm bed, don't you agree?"

"I'd much prefer the ground over your bed," I replied coldly, turning around to meet his smirking face.

His eyes narrowed as he took my wrist and pulled me toward him. "I am not a patient man, Anariel, so you should do well not to anger me. Your husband has requested your company for the night."

"And I've denied it," I shot back, glaring into his angry brown eyes. I knew what was going to happen next; I was waiting for it. "Hit me, if you dare."

Whether or not he was actually going to hit me, I wasn't sure, but he wasn't able to follow through, regardless, because Legolas soon appeared at his side, ordering him to release me. Beinion, I knew, was just as surprised as I was, though he refused to show it. Instead, he masked his face with a smile and replied in a calm voice, "She is my wife."

"And so you should respect her wishes," Legolas said.

"Of course," he said, but before releasing me, he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "Sooner or later, I will break you, Anariel." Then he placed a kiss on my cheek and walked away, leaving me alone with my savior.

I sighed and turned to Legolas. "Thank you."

"Any man would have done the same."

"But only you did."

He smiled. "You should get some sleep."

I had absolutely no objection to that. After such a stressful day, all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep until it was all some distance memory. In order for that to happen, though, I would've needed to sleep for centuries. Still, it was nice to lie down, even if it was on the dirty floor.

"Where are the twins?" I asked Legolas, who'd sat down beside me.

"Elrohir, I believe, is outside trying to barter for one of the guards' swords, and Elladan is still trying to get his stubborn brother to rest."

I giggled softly, feeling my eyelids grow heavy, but I didn't want to sleep, not just yet. There was still something I had to do.

"Legolas," I said, grasping his attention, "you were part of the Fellowship of the Ring, weren't you?"

I'd had a sneaking suspicion for a while, something I'd always tried to deny, but not until tonight was I absolutely certain. He might not have fit the physical description, and his personality was far from what I'd imagined, but tonight everything just sort of fell into place. Somehow, I knew without a doubt he was the elf I sought.

"Yes," he answered, "I was."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Please, review!**


	13. The Cursed Forest of Mirkwood

**Okay, I'm very sorry that it took so long for me to publish this. School's been keeping me busy lately because it's nearing the end of the semester, but that also means that I'll be done with school in a few weeks, so I'll have much more time to write! Lastly, just as a note for stuff to come, the next chapter is going to be pretty pivotal in many aspects, so get ready for that! Anyway, enough talk, enjoy this long chapter. **

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><p><span> Chapter 13: The Cursed Forest of Mirkwood<span>

I awoke the next morning expecting to feel the cold stone floor beneath my cheek. Why, I was even prepared to wake up with a mangy, flea-bearing rat beside me. I'd seen them scurrying around the night before, searching for crumbs, no doubt, and it'd always been a fear of mine to wake up in the middle of the night with rats crawling in my hair. Just the thought made me shudder. But what I felt was no floor, and if there was a rat near me, I certainly couldn't see it; all I felt was the softness of a grey cloak. Legolas, trying to outdo himself with kindness, must've placed it under my head while I was sleeping, but as I looked around the hall, I couldn't find him anywhere. The only elf I saw was Elladan, who was sitting alone at one of the tables.

It was kind of funny, really. Just last night, the hall was packed with hundreds of people, but this morning only the servants remained to clean up the mess. One girl, as she was trying to sweep up bread crumbs, was most annoyed when her path became obstructed by Turin's sleeping, snoring form, so she started stabbing his chest with the end of her broom handle. Six times she jabbed him, and not once did he stir, much to her frustration. Not wanting to inconvenience her as well, I quickly got up, took Legolas's cloak, and sat down beside Elladan.

"Sleep well?" he asked, his attention focused on the bowl of porridge he was trying to stir with his spoon.

"Surprisingly," I answered, but my voice tapered off as I watched him stir.

Granted, I'd seen some unappetizing bowls of porridge before, but this one topped them all. It was thick and grey, and there were several brown specks that even the elf couldn't identify. Still, either out of hunger or common courtesy, he brought a whole spoonful to his mouth and closed his lips around it. I thought for sure he was going to spit it out, and for a while it seemed like he was about to, but then his eyes began to widen in delight, and once he'd swallowed, he relayed to me, "It tastes much better than it looks, actually."

Then, as if she'd been watching him take his first bite from afar, one of the young servants rushed to our table and asked in a most eager voice, "Is the food to your liking?"

Elladan seemed a bit taken aback at first, but he quickly recovered and flashed a polite smile. "Yes, it is delicious. Thank you."

"Great, I'm glad." With her fingers intertwined, she rocked back and forth between the heels and soles of her feet, back and forth, back and forth. It was very distracting, of course, but not enough to divert from the fact that her face was growing redder by the second. "Will there be anything else?" she asked with a slight stutter, making her anxiety even more obvious. "A bowl for you, m'lady?"

I shook my head, fighting the grin that was threatening to surface. "No, thank you."

Smiling bashfully, she took a wobbly step right into the path of one of the passing servants, and the two collided into each other. While nobody was physically harmed, the girl had likely suffered great emotional trauma because she hurried out of that hall faster than I'd ever seen a girl run.

"Do you see the effect you elves have on women?" I jokingly asked Elladan, who was helping himself to his second spoonful of porridge.

"You elves?" Clearly, he wasn't fond of my word choice, but thankfully he didn't dwell on it. "What do you mean?"

"You had to have noticed," I said. "Why, that girl was practically falling all over herself. She could barely speak to you."

With a shrug, he answered nonchalantly, "It is but a fascination. Nothing substantial will come of it."

Honestly, I was kind of surprised to hear him say that. Yes, I understood that for most people elves were simply these exotic, unattainable beings, but surely some "substantial" relationships could be formed, romantic or not. Off the top of my head, I could recount very few of such relationships, but I knew they existed. They had to.

"Has it always been so?" I asked, immediately noticing the ambiguity of my question. "What I mean is, do elves ever ... Well, have they ever ..."

"Speak up," Elladan pressed, "before my porridge goes cold."

"Do they marry mortals?"

Out of all the questions floating around in my head, that was the one I'd decided to pull out? Oh, what a stupid girl I was. I should have gone a strictly platonic route, but I had this subconscious desire to determine the plausibility of my own romantic fantasies, which was probably worsened by the presence of Legolas's cloak. Even when I set it off to the side, though, the questioned still remained.

"Elves and men, can they marry?" I asked, finding my fingers awfully bare without the cloak to cling to.

He nodded his head. "They can, but they rarely do. It is complicated."

Everything about elves was complicated, it seemed. When I first saw the elves in Rivendell, I thought—and maybe it was a foolish thought—that all the questions I once sought would finally be answered, but that wasn't the case at all. At first, I thought they were just protecting their secrets, but maybe it wasn't that simple; maybe the answers were just too far beyond my comprehension, and that frustrated me even more.

"My sister," Elladan went on, "was the wife of King Elessar."

"Really?"

Of course I knew the legends of King Elessar. He was, after all, one of the greatest men to have ever lived, with as many deeds as he had names, which created much confusion for a young girl. One detail Father had failed to mention, though, was the fact that he'd taken an elf as his wife. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have asked the silly question that brought about this conversation.

"What happened to her?" I asked, remembering that he'd used the past tense.

"Being half-elven, she chose to reject her immortality so that she could marry and die with the man she loved." He dipped his spoon back into his porridge but made no attempt to lift it again. "It may sound romantic to you, but it was also met with much despair. I watched her die, Anariel, something I never thought I would have to experience."

Pushing his bowl away, he took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing.

"As I said, unions between elves and men are rare, with only four having occurred in history, and all four were between elven women and mortal men."

"So an elf has never married a mortal woman?" I asked.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the table.

Although I was quite depressed upon hearing this, I had to abandon my selfish thoughts, for I could see the pain that lingered on Elladan's face no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Immediately, I felt terrible for forcing him to relive such horrible memories, so I tried my best to lighten the mood.

"Well," I said, "if that girl has her way, she will be the first."

Slowly, he turned his eyes to me, and a small smile began to spread across his face. "That is doubtful."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me? Doubtful? Are you saying you find us ugly? You know, we may not be as fair as the elves, but we have our good points, too."

With a chuckle, the anguish in his eyes began to disappear. "Have I offended you?" he asked, his grey eyes finally clear and bright.

"Very much so," I shot back, trying so hard to keep a serious face, but it was impossible. Not even a second passed before I succumbed to laughter, and that was when I felt the pain in my jaw return, forcing me to stop right away.

"What is it?" he asked, but before I could answer, he grabbed my chin and turned my face to the side, giving him a clear view of the bruise on my cheek. Judging by his expression, it was quite pronounced this morning.

"It looks much worse than it is," I insisted, hoping he wouldn't press the issue any further.

"It will heal in time," he gently replied as he drew his hand back. "And he will suffer greatly for his actions."

I tried to smile, but I couldn't, not because of the bruise, because I just couldn't see that happening. Beinion would never suffer any punishment, I knew that for certain; in fact, it was the only thing I knew for certain. Men like him could do whatever they wanted to a woman, and nobody would even think to protest. It was a fact that all women had to face eventually, even me.

While I was contemplating the fate of women, the pushy servant came to my side and informed me that my clothes had just finished drying, so it would be best if I came with her right away to the wardrobe for dressing. With a little unnecessary encouragement, I rose from the table and then remembered Legolas's cloak lying on the bench, so before I was taken away, I quickly but very politely asked Elladan, "If you see Legolas, would you please return his cloak for me?"

He smiled. "Of course."

"Thank—" Once again, that impatient woman started shoving me along. By now, I knew better than to resist her, though a part of me just wanted to turn around and smack her. Honestly, what was her problem anyway? You'd think she was the busiest servant in all of Middle-earth. Was there some kind of contest going on within the castle, one that rewarded a prize to the most efficient servant? Well, whatever it was, she certainly had no right to be so forceful.

In the wardrobe, I first received a verbal lashing for dirtying the dress I was given. Apparently, the fabric wasn't easy to wash, so I should've thought twice before resting on the dirty floor, and there was also small wine stain on the bodice, which I couldn't recall at all but was still chastised for. After all that was over, the women proceeded to dress me, and I think they were purposefully rougher than they had to be.

"What is that on your face?" the old woman asked as she took my chin, exercising more care than previously dealt. Gently, she turned my head and closely examined the bruise on my cheek. "Well, look what you've gone and done to yourself," she murmured before retrieving the wooden stool from the far corner. "Sit down."

"It's nothing," I said, though I sat down anyway because I knew she would just get angry if I refused her. "It was an accident."

"I've seen many accidents in my time," she sharply replied before leaving the room.

In her absence, I looked over at the other women, who stood perfectly still and denied me even the briefest glance no matter how long I stared. They tried to be polite about it, make it seem unintentional, but I could see right through them. At first, I thought they were just being rude, but when one woman's eye flickered over to my cheek, I realized that rudeness was the very thing they were trying so hard to avoid.

"It's all right," I said, tucking my hair behind my ear, giving them an unobstructed view of my cheek. "You don't have to look away."

The youngest dropped her head and apologized earnestly. "Forgive me, m'lady. I did not mean to stare."

"Is it that noticeable?" I asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

"No, m'lady ... Well, a little."

I frowned. "I was afraid of that."

Like a calf, I'd been branded with Beinion's mark, and now everybody, even peasants, would know what had happened. Mother always said if I were ever struck by my husband, I was to wear it like a badge of honor, for it meant that he cared enough to teach me discipline, teach me how to be a proper wife. How sick I was of hearing that term. What man created that code of conduct? Father certainly never encouraged submissiveness; he'd always told me to speak my mind and stand up for my beliefs. Mother was the one who'd always tried to restrain me, force me to sit and listen to hours of her poetry. After just ten minutes, I wanted to take my sewing needle and impale myself.

As the old woman returned, a most foul smell filled the air, worsening once she placed her bucket down beside me. Within the bucket was a dark, cloudy liquid filled with various herbs, and they smelled worse than the ones Mother used in her baths. When she dipped a rag into the liquid and brought it to my face, I pulled away immediately.

"Oh, that smells just awful," I said, plugging my nose with my fingers. "What is that?"

"Aye, the smell is terrible, but it does wonders for bruises. Now, stop your squirmin' and hold still."

After peeling my hand away from my face, she placed the warm rag against my cheek, which stung at first but soon felt rather soothing. Then, as always, she started scolding me again.

"Unless you want a matchin' pair, you'll do well to watch your tongue. The world's hard enough for a woman; you don't need to be givin' yourself any unnecessary trouble. Just keep your thoughts to yourself, and no harm will come to you."

"And what if I can't do that?" I asked once I'd realized the impossibility of her terms.

The woman's hard face softened as she carefully pulled the rag away. "Then I guess I'll have to share my recipe with you."

Although the smell was unbearable, the woman's weird concoction was surprisingly effective. After soaking my cheek for ten minutes, the worst of the pain had already started to subside, which meant I could smile and laugh much more freely, and for that I was glad because as soon as I returned to the great hall, I saw something most entertaining. Gathered together at the table, all three elves were watching in awe as the mysterious properties of the porridge were being explored. Currently, Turin was holding his bowl upside down, and, strangely enough, not a single drop of porridge was falling to the table.

"Wow," Elrohir said, his mouth hanging open in amazement, "that is incredible."

"How is that even possible?" Legolas wondered.

"Would it kill you to just eat it?" Elladan asked, clearly becoming irritated.

Turin raised the bowl above his head for a closer look. "It just might."

At that, I broke into a fit of quiet giggles, which immediately caught their attention. Turin set the bowl down right away, but it was Legolas who first acknowledged me, and as soon as his eyes met mine, my laughter fell quiet.

It was kind of strange being around him now that I knew who he was. For so long, I'd dreamt of the moment when I would meet him, and now that he was right in front of me, I didn't know what to do. At eight, I would have dropped to my knees and begged him to take me as his pupil. At thirteen, I would have declared my undying love to him and proposed marriage. And now, like a greedy child, I kind of wanted both. But were those feelings for the heroic character from my dreams or the elf right in front of me? Were they even the same people? Honestly, I wasn't sure anymore.

"We should prepare to leave," Legolas said upon rising. "We have a long road still ahead of us."

It was midmorning when we departed from Alundor. Lord Aemon begged us to stay another night, but we had no choice but to decline, so we bid him thanks for his hospitality and then set out for the Old Ford Bridge. This bridge, Elladan said, would lead us to the Wood of Greenleaves, a large forest that was once home to elves. I, of course, was most excited to see this forest, and I shared my eagerness with someone I did not expect. There was something different about Legolas; something had changed the moment we left Alundor. Never before had I seen so much emotion on the elf's face; it was faint, yes, but visible even to my mortal eyes. Something had him excited, more excited than I'd ever seen him, and I wanted to know what that was.

"What's that on your face?" Turin asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"You have a bruise on your face. Did you get into a fight or something?" He chuckled at the thought. "Really, what happened?"

I didn't know what to say to him. I couldn't tell him the truth because I knew Turin would not handle the news as well as the elves had. He would just get angry and probably blame himself. But the longer I stood silent, the more worried Turin became, and soon the truth became my only option.

"He hit you, didn't he?" he realized as he came to an abrupt stop, his green eyes full of sadness, guilt, and, most of all, anger. It was the anger I was worried about. Turin had a very short fuse, one that needed to be tended to immediately or else he would explode and do something drastic.

"It's okay," I said calmly, taking his trembling arm. "I'm fine, really."

He shook his head. "No, it's not okay. I should have been there to stop him. I should have been there to protect you."

Repeatedly, almost manically, he glanced over his shoulder, looking back at the riverside town where my attacker remained. Right now, Beinion was probably feasting on a breakfast of his own, requesting fish most likely, as was his preferred meal, with nice, crispy bacon. If I hadn't been holding so tightly to Turin, he would've charged the hall during Beinion's glorious meal and bashed the young fox's head against the wooden table until his nose split in two and his teeth popped out like seeds. My imagination stopped there, but I knew Turin's fury would be much worse.

"Turin," I said, "please, let's just go."

Breaking away from me, Turin stormed away from the group in a fit of rage. The elves noticed his departure immediately, but instead of calling him back, they just watched him fall apart. Screaming like a madman, Turin drew his sword and started hacking mercilessly through the grasses and bushes, completely decimating the vegetation around him. With every swing, his movements became more frantic but less powerful, and soon he lacked the strength to even raise his arms, so he chucked the sword aside and collapsed to the ground in defeat. I moved forward then and, after retrieving his sword, sat down beside him. Moments passed before either of us said anything.

"I've failed you, Ana," Turin told me, his head hung in shame. "I let myself get distracted, while you—" He bit back the rest of his words. "It should not have happened. I should have stopped him. I am not worthy of being your protector."

"What are you saying?" I demanded, lightly nudging his drooping shoulder with my elbow. "Turin, you saved my life; you have already proven your worth. There is no one I trust more than you."

At that, his shoulders began to straighten, and he turned to me with a most interested look. His eyebrows were so high that they'd nearly joined his hairline. Then he asked, "Not even the elves?"

I sighed. "Not even the elves."

Finally, his face broke into that grin I'd grown accustomed to. "Well, how could you?" he declared as he jumped to his feet. "They don't even leave footprints in the snow, those sneaky little fellows."

"Turin ..."

His competitive attitude toward the elves was something I would never understand, and I didn't care to. Perhaps it was one of the many vices of young men.

"Well, we'd better go before the elves get restless," Turin went on as he took back his sword and sheathed it. "They have all the time in the world, yet they're the most impatient people I have ever met."

If the elves had in fact been growing restless, then they were experts at concealing it because I couldn't see even the faintest trace of impatience on their faces. They stood together, calmly waiting for us to catch up, and once we finally did, they spoke not a word before continuing on. What impatient people, indeed.

Now, the Old Ford Bridge had been reconstructed several times. The first was after the crowning of King Elessar, which marked a period of great rebuilding that lasted through much of his reign. But after his death and the death of his son, the bridge was destroyed in an attempt to protect everyone from the evils that lurked on the other side of the Great River. As a child, I'd assumed they were referring to monsters or vicious beasts, but really they were just talking about the Lake-men of Dale, who were a great threat to the fragile kingdom. Removing the bridge, however, was a wasted effort because the Lake-men attacked anyway, triggering a five-year war that, upon victory, greatly expanded the Reunited Kingdom's territory.

Once rebuilt, the bridge stood strong for almost one hundred years before it was accidentally blown up during an attempt to make, what alchemists called, "black powder." The explosion was so massive that it could have been seen over the highest peaks of the Misty Mountains, and Alundor was nearly destroyed. From that day on, black powder was banned from the kingdom, but small explosions were still frequently reported, particularly in Mordor.

Now, almost fifty years later, we were approaching the latest reconstruction, a beautiful stone bridge that was being manned by two very disgruntled guards. At one end, a short, stocky man stood with a scowl that conveyed very clearly that he was in a bad mood, which I soon learned was due partially to the weather but mostly to his ill-fitting armor. "Two sizes too small," he'd said, and his discomfort severely impacted his judgment because when we later asked to cross the bridge, he flat-out denied us.

"Why can't we pass?" I asked as we all gathered in front of the bridge's entrance.

"By order of Lord Aemon, no man shall pass without first paying the toll."

"The toll? What toll?"

"The toll to cross this bridge. By order of Lord Aemon, no man shall pass without first paying the toll."

"We heard you the first time," Turin grumbled.

Again, we were faced with a problem, for none of us had enough money to pay the toll; in fact, we really didn't have any money at all, except for Turin's sparse winnings from a bet on one of last night's drunken arm wrestling matches, which, according to the loser, was fixed and the money was rightfully his, but the man passed out before he could actually challenge it, so as far as Turin was concerned, he'd won fair and square. Still, he hadn't won enough to grant us passage over the bridge, so Elrohir tried to barter with the guard.

"That is a lovely piece of armor you have there," Elrohir complimented. "Excellent quality."

"It's too small."

"Nonsense! It's very slimming." Quickly, he pulled out one of his daggers and held it out for the guard to admire. "Now, wouldn't that armor look great with this dagger? A real elven blade. I guarantee no man will ever carry a dagger so fine."

The guard's eyes were clouded with disinterest. "I see little value in the weapons of elves."

That guard might as well have stabbed Elrohir in the chest. It was one thing to insult elves in front of him, but to insult their weaponry meant certain death. Elrohir looked like he wanted to take his dagger and ram it straight through the man's neck, but he didn't, probably because his brother was watching, and instead he stepped back. That was when the guard noticed the elf's battle axe.

"What about that axe of yours?" the guard asked, eyeing the axe with great interest. If he had been standing any closer, he probably would've tried to snatch it from him right then and there.

"This axe?" Elrohir questioned, pulling it from his belt. "Well, it's just an orc's axe. Really, it has no value."

"You take me for a fool? I know a dwarf's axe when I see one. Now, if you want to cross this bridge, you'll hand over that axe."

But the elf wasn't about to part with his precious axe.

"Well, we really don't need to pay the toll," Elrohir went on casually. "You see, I could easily just throw you into the river, and we'll be on our merry way."

The guard puffed out his chest. "You just try it, elf!"

As soon as the threat was delivered, Turin and Elladan stepped into action, but they had two very different intentions: Elladan wanted to prevent bloodshed, while Turin wanted to help cut the guard's head off. Naturally, that created a lot of tension, but Legolas refused to get involved. As always, he just stood back and carefully observed. I myself stayed back only because I knew I would probably get stabbed by accident, especially with Turin involved.

Thankfully, the confrontation never escalated to violence, for the guard pulled back once he saw someone approaching. Immediately, he went as straight as an arrow and addressed the visitor with a respectful bow. "M'lord, I am honored by your presence."

"Of course you are," Beinion smugly replied as he approached us, his faithful bodyguard at his side. His bodyguard, however, wouldn't be able to stop the three elves who were now glaring furiously at the pompous lord. They, of course, would never attack him, but I couldn't say the same for Turin, whose veins were on the verge of exploding with anger. Elladan seemed to share my worries, for he kept a watchful eye on the boy the entire time, ready to intervene if necessary.

"It appears you have a talent for finding trouble, Anariel," Beinion went on, his lips curling into a wicked smile. "Tell me, what have you done this time?"

"They were trying to cross the bridge without paying the toll," the guard answered. "By order of Lord Aemon, no man—"

"I was not speaking to you," Beinion snapped before focusing on me. "Are you unable to pay such a small toll, Anariel? I knew your family was in debt, but I had no idea it was this severe. How long until the king seizes your lands, I wonder?" Then he pulled out a small coin purse and carelessly tossed it to the guard. "Thankfully, you have a generous husband who is willing to pay off your debts. Remember that."

I cringed. Debt, that was what this was all about. Because of a few harsh winters and my mother's insatiable appetite for luxury, my family was drowning in debt and on the verge of losing our land. Luckily, after years of negotiation, Mother managed to convince Lord Beriadan to help us, but only when our houses were joined in marriage. So just like that, the welfare of my family and the entire village was on my shoulders, and right now all I wanted to do was jump into the river.

Just to weigh my options, I walked down the riverbank and peered into the water. It was so blue, so inviting; I could've easily stepped right in and submerged myself to a watery death. To start, I knelt beside the river and dipped a finger into the water, enjoying the cool, freeing sensation. Then, as I stared across the river, I realized something.

"This is a ford," I whispered to myself before standing up and delivering the news to the rest of my party. "This is a ford!"

Elrohir nodded his head. "Yes, it is."

"It's not deep," I hinted, hoping they would eventually catch on to what I was trying to say, but the wise elves were completely oblivious, so I resorted to a different tactic. Pulling my dress up to my knees, I waded out a few feet, and then turned around. "You see, before this bridge was even built, people simply crossed on foot."

Everybody was giving me a blank stare.

"Because it's not deep," I went on, dragging out my words for as long as I could stand it. "Because it's a ford ... which isn't deep ... because it's a ford!"

A small smile began tugging at the corners of Legolas's mouth, and Elladan appeared to be catching on as well, but the other two were completely senseless. I, however, wasn't about to freeze my toes off waiting for them, so I continued across to the other side.

"What are you doing?" the guard hollered as he ran alongside me on the bridge. "You can't do that! You can't do that!" He kept on running and shouting until he reached the other end of the bridge, where the other guard stood. "Can she do that?" he asked him. "Can she do that?"

Whether I was allowed to or not, I did cross the ford on foot, and once I was on the other side, I turned around and shouted to my companions, "Come on, it's just water!"

Turin stepped forward first, pushing though the twins. "Yes, it's just water. You elves are always slowing us down."

Eyeing the boy, Elrohir drew his axe and ran his fingers over the blade. If his brother hadn't been watching him so closely, he might've acted on the aggressive thoughts drifting through his mind. Since he was being watched, though, he just got into the water.

While everyone made their way across, I saw something most unexpected. Beinion, followed by his bodyguard, was preparing to cross as well. Lifting his cloak, which supposedly was a gift from King Tyrek himself and embroidered with threads of gold, he fought across the ford with a most unpleasant look on his face, constantly muttering obscenities under his breath. How I wanted him to drown or get swept away by a wave, but my wishes didn't matter. Even nature seemed to favor the wealthy.

"M'lord, you don't have to expose yourself to such conditions," the guard said. "Please, just take the bridge!"

I honestly had no idea why Beinion wouldn't just take the bridge. Maybe he was trying to prove something to me, prove that he wasn't just some helpless boy who could only solve his problems by throwing around money. But crossing a shallow ford certainly wasn't going to change my opinion of him, so if he truly wanted to prove himself, he was going to have to try much harder.

"What are you doing, Beinion?" I asked once he'd successfully made it to the other side.

"I'm protecting my investment," he replied as he dumped out the water from his boot. "Did you really expect me to just let you leave? Whatever this quest of yours is, I intend to join you."

"But you can't," I said, looking to the elves for support, but I found none; they were just standing there, completely silent. Elladan later told me that they had no choice but to let him come along, that as much as they wanted to deny his request, there was nothing they could do. "What were we supposed to do?" he said. "Kill him?" Yes, those were my exact thoughts. Kill him, throw his body into the river, and let the fish have at him, but since I couldn't kill him myself, I had no choice but to allow it.

We walked together, the seven of us, toward the Wood of Greenleaves. All the excitement I'd previously felt was quickly replaced with discomfort and paranoia. I didn't like having Beinion so close, and despite the barrier the twins had formed between us, I could feel his eyes on me with every step I took. Turin was kept towards the front as well, but for Beinion's protection rather than his. Elladan didn't trust Turin's self-control, and neither did I. He was much too calm.

When I first heard of the Wood of Greenleaves, I pictured a great forest so dense that it blocked even the light of day, but in the areas where the sun did penetrate the thick canopy, there was incomparable beauty, perfectly undisturbed: wildflowers more beautiful than any royal garden, water that glistened like sapphire, and wild, exotic animals that had never warmed an old man's feet. That was the forest I'd envision, but it was not the one I found. The Wood of Greenleaves was but a shadow of that forest; it was dark, empty, lifeless.

"So this is the Wood of Greenleaves," Turin said as we walked down the Old Forest Road. "You know, I thought it'd be bigger."

"It was bigger," Legolas said, his voice filled with sorrow. He stopped for a moment and approached the black wall that stretched all the way down the right side of the road. Running his fingers across the charred wood, he stared ahead, as if his elf eyes could somehow penetrate the wall, and he didn't seem to like what he saw. "What is this place?" he asked.

"Mirkwood," Beinion replied, "named after the cursed forest on which it was built. The burning of the forest was one of the most celebrated moments in history. Oh, I would have loved to have seen it with my own eyes."

Mirkwood, assuming I remembered correctly, was established shortly after King Elessar's death. The burning of the great forest in Rhovanion was a huge controversy, as it went against the will of Elessar himself. Until now, I had no idea the Wood of Greenleaves was that very forest. To us, it had always been Mirkwood, and like the forest whose trees formed its great wall, the city was a mysterious place, filled with many dark secrets. I felt uncomfortable just standing near it.

Legolas crossed the road and approached the remaining portion of the forest, gazing through the dying trees with a deep sadness. He took one of the black, dry branches in his hand, and it crumbled away at his touch.

"What's his problem?" Turin asked rather insensitively.

"Forests are dear to all elves," Elladan answered, "but those of the Woodland Realm have a particular fondness for these woods."

I finally tore my eyes away from Legolas and settled them upon Elladan. "The Woodland Realm?"

"It was a kingdom of elves in the northern wood." He pointed off toward the trees. "Just there, past the mountains."

Slowly, I began to understand why Legolas was so upset.

"And Legolas was of this realm?" I assumed.

"Well, actually—" Elrohir began to say, but he was quickly cut off by his brother, who simply answered, "Yes, he was."

With this knowledge, I left the group and joined Legolas at the edge of the forest. For a long time I just stood there, thinking of something to say to him, but then I realized that maybe silence was better; maybe he just wanted to be left alone. Just as I was about to leave, I heard something in the distance: hooves galloping across the dirt and squeaky, rickety wheels, like they were about to pop off any second. Legolas, with his keen sense of hearing, must've heard it long before I had because he was already telling everybody to get off the road. Then he took my arm and pulled me into the forest with him.

Scrambling, everybody managed to escape into the trees just before the wagon came rolling down the road, drawn by a horse so black that it was almost indistinguishable against the burnt walls. Whenever the horse started to lag, the driver would beat it with his old leather whip. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Turin cringe when the horse was struck for the third time. He knew better than anyone what that felt like, and he had the scars to prove it. At seventeen, the boy had received the whip more times than most criminals. I'd seen his scars only once when I'd offered to mend his undershirt for him, and at that moment I thought I would never see anything more horrifying.

I was wrong.

This wagon was not transporting goods; it was transporting people, hobbits, locked up like animals in an iron cage. There had to have been at least a dozen of them, men mostly, but I could see the frightened children clinging to their mothers' legs, staring out through the bars with tear-stained eyes. Whether by some trick of my mind or not, I met the gaze of one of those terrified children and was overcome by this urge to help, even if it would be in vain, but when I attempted to step forward, my wrist became ensnared by an elf's tight grip. I looked up at Legolas with confusion and, honestly, a bit of anger.

"We have to do something," I pleaded desperately, feeling the tears beginning to sting my eyes. "Who knows what they'll do to them. We can't just ... We have to ..."

He shook his head, his blue eyes writhing with guilt. "There is nothing we can do now."

Turning my head, I watched as the wagon disappeared from view. I didn't know where it was going, but I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was telling me that wherever that wagon stopped, death would soon follow for the hobbits inside.

"Come," Legolas said as he released my wrist. "We are no longer welcome guests in Middle-earth, so we should try to avoid the cities and main roads from now on. We will pass through the forest. The trees will shelter us from sight."

"But we can't go through the forest," Beinion argued, showing more fear than any lord ever should. Even I knew that lords were supposed to remain strong in the face of danger, never faltering, but his man, this boy, was literally quivering in his boots.

"It is the only way," Legolas affirmed. "If you do not wish to pass, then you are free to leave. Nobody is forcing you to stay."

For whatever reason—pride, most likely—Beinion did continue on, and, together, we passed through the forest, fighting our way through an endless thicket of trees. Elrohir and Legolas led the way, determining the most traversable path, but they could only do so much. I was hardly ten steps in and had already suffered countless scratches from all the sharp thorns and branches. Beinion was the worst, though, complaining the entire way, not just about the thickets but about these great spiders that supposedly lurked in the woods. He just wouldn't stop going on about them. Was the young fox really afraid of spiders?

"As big as men, I heard, maybe bigger," he said.

"You need not worry, m'lord," his bodyguard assured him. "The great spiders have been gone for centuries."

Beinion shook his head. "No, they live still. I can feel it."

It was odd to hear him say that, actually, because I too felt something strange in the wood. Over and over, I would hear branches snapping and leaves rustling without even the faintest breeze. In the dark, I would catch wisps of shadows that disappeared with my blinking eyes. Quickly, I was becoming a little paranoid.

"Do you believe it?" I asked Turin, who walked beside me.

"That deal about spiders?" He shook his head before ducking under one of the overhanging branches that I was short enough to avoid. "No, this forest is dead."

"This forest is not dead," Elladan said as he ducked beneath the branch as well. "It is merely sleeping."

"Sleeping?" I couldn't believe it. "How can you tell?"

"I can sense the trees, feel their heartbeats."

"Trees have heartbeats?" I questioned, watching the trees with a newfound curiosity.

Turin rolled his eyes. "Clearly, he's pulling your leg."

"I am not," Elladan defended. "Here, I'll show you."

Elladan stopped us for a moment and directed us toward one of the larger trees on the side of the path. After situating us next to the tree, he told us to place our palms on the trunk and close our eyes.

"Now, listen," he instructed. "Clear everything else from your mind, and just listen."

With my eyes squeezed shut, I placed all my concentration on the tree beneath my fingers, blocking out the wind, the birds, and Turin's heavy breathing, which gradually lessened as he too tried to focus. For the first time since we set out, I actually felt relaxed and at peace, but I felt no heartbeat besides my own, and that made me depressed. I believed what Elladan had said, that trees had heartbeats, but I could not feel them. Eventually, I gave up and backed away from the tree, but Turin remained locked in a trance.

"I feel," he said dramatically before opening his eyes, "like a fool."

I frowned and turned to Elladan. "I think that's a gift reserved only for the elves, unfortunately."

"Maybe so," he replied with a smile, "or maybe it is a gift possessed by all, but some simply choose to ignore it."

"Trees having heartbeats?" Beinion scoffed as he strode past us with his bodyguard. "What a load of rubbish. I suppose they can talk, as well."

"Ents can talk," I said as we continued on, "and walk, even."

"But the ents are dead," Turin reminded me, "just like the—"

"Spider!" Beinion screamed so loud that his father could probably hear him all the way in Archet. By the time everybody managed to reach him, he was cowering in fear, pointing a trembling finger at a large, black spider carcass lying on the edge of the path. Now, I'd called many things large before, even some that, in hindsight, probably weren't that large at all, but this carcass was huge, bigger than a full-grown man.

"A great spider," Beinion's bodyguard uttered as he backed away, disappearing from my field of vision.

Elrohir stepped up to take a closer look at it. With his sword, he poked and prodded at the carcass for several seconds before telling us, "This is just its exoskeleton. It molted recently, probably just a few days ago."

"Molted?" I repeated. "But that means ..."

The elf nodded his head. "The actual spider is much bigger now."

A heavy silence fell upon us then, interrupted only by the sound of Beinion's panicked cries. "I knew it," he murmured over and over again. "I knew it, I knew it."

"We should not have come here," Beinion's bodyguard denounced, pulling everyone's attention to him. The petrified guard slowly backed away from us, his lips trembling as he professed, "This wood is cursed. We are all going to die! ... I will not stay here another minute!"

The guard took another step back, but I couldn't tell you what he was doing after that because something in the trees caught my eye. A dark figure, large and ominous, was descending from the treetops, slowly and stealthily. At first glance, I might've mistaken it for a shadow, but then I saw a leg—one leg, two legs, three, and a fourth—as slender as tree branches, but much stronger. I'd heard about the great spiders, and I remembered Frodo's struggle with Shelob, but to see one with my own eyes was another experience entirely. The poor guard had absolutely no idea that such a beast was right behind him, ready and eager to attack.

"What the ... ?" Turin stumbled back, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Legolas drew an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow to shoot, but it was already too late. He knew it, we knew it, everybody seemed to know it except for the victim. At the last second, the guard must've felt that something was wrong because he looked up; he looked up just in time to make eye contact with the monster that was about to devour him. In the short time it took Legolas to release his arrow, the enormous spider leapt from the trees and pounced on the helpless guard, immediately sinking its fangs into its prey. The guard squirmed and screamed for a few seconds before going completely limp. It was the single most frightening thing I'd ever witnessed, yet I couldn't look away.

"Run!" Legolas shouted as he fired another arrow a the spider, hitting it in the abdomen.

Turin grabbed my hand and started pulling me along with him as he made his escape. With Beinion running behind us, we fled toward another thicket, leaving the three elves to battle the great spider. I knew Turin wanted to stay and fight as well, but right now he seemed to care more for my safety than his pleasure. Not once, not even when the tree branches were tugging at his clothes, did he let go my hand.

"Do you think they'll be all right?" I managed to ask amidst the struggle.

"Yes, of course!" Beinion shouted, roughly shoving me along from behind. In his frightened state, he had even less patience than usual. "They are elves! They can do anything!"

Suddenly, just before we'd reached the thicket's end, Beinion was violently jerked backwards, making him yelp loudly. Sometime during the rush, his precious cloak snagged onto one of the branches, rendering him an immobile, blubbering fool. Thrashing about, he screamed at the top of his lungs for us to help him. Never before had I seen a grown man so desperate.

"Please!" he begged. "You can't just leave me here!"

Actually, that was exactly what Turin intended to do. He said Beinion deserved this for all he'd done to me, and he urged me to leave him there. Finally, I had all the power; I alone would decide Beinion's fate. I should've left him there, and I wanted to more than anything, but the guilt I felt in my heart was too great to ignore. My parents did not raise me to be pitiless, so I turned back and did all that I could to help my enemy escape.

"Hurry!" Beinion shouted.

Reaching over, I grasped the end of his cloak and tried to wiggle it free as Beinion tugged and pulled with all his might, but our combined efforts were futile. He practically had an entire tree clinging to his cloak, and it was not letting go no matter how much we fought with it. For a second, I thought the trees had somehow come alive and were exacting revenge on the young lord for mocking them earlier. The sheer possibility was almost enough to distract me, but then I heard a strange noise above me that completely stole my waning attention. Loosening my grip on Beinion's cloak, I cast my eyes upwards, peering through the thick branches. The cunning spider blended almost perfectly with the tree; if I hadn't been so focused, I probably wouldn't have seen it, but I did, and I knew what was going to happen if we waited too long to move.

"Beinion," I whispered to avoid frightening him, "you must untie your cloak."

His face fell like I'd just asked him to amputate his arm. "Untie my cloak? Are you mad? This cloak is worth more than your life."

"Tell me, is it worth more than your life as well?"

Instead of wasting more time with words, I grabbed Beinion's chin and forced him to look up. For a few seconds his eyes were darting around in confusion, but then his face went pallid.

"Ana, run!" Turin shouted, finally noticing the beast we were already well aware of.

Quickly, but still very reluctantly, Beinion began fumbling around with the clasp of his cloak, his fingernails chattering against its gold surface. His fear was radiating off the sweat dripping down from his forehead, providing the perfect fuel for the spider's attack. Just as Beinion unhooked the clasp, the beast came ripping down the tree faster than I'd seen any creature move. Screaming, Beinion tore free from his cloak and, taking hold of my shoulders, launched us out of the thicket just before the spider came crashing down on top of us, splintering every branch in its path. The rough landing disoriented the spider for a few seconds, but after shaking the wood shavings from its legs, it was alert once more.

As I made my way toward Turin, Beinion did something I did not expect, though I certainly should have. Babbling incoherently to himself, he whipped around and took off deeper into the wood, leaving us to face this enemy alone.

"Coward!" Turin spat before finally drawing his sword, a smirk quickly spreading across his face as set his eyes on the spider.

I never understood how Turin could remain so calm in danger. Here I was, completely petrified, and he was acting as though this was nothing more than a harmless house spider. Taking his sword in both hands, he charged the beast with quick, light feet, rapidly closing the distance between them. The two were roughly of the same height, yet Turin seemed to tower over the great creature, completely unafraid. Sensing danger, the spider made an attempt to retreat back to its tree, but Turin was two steps ahead of it. The spider had barely placed two legs on the tree when Turin came at it, slashing through three of its six vulnerable appendages. Writhing in agony, the beast fell to the ground and scurried away from Turin, slowly hobbling along on its remaining legs, but Turin knew better than to let it escape. Leaping onto the spider's back, he took his sword and drove it straight through its cephalothorax, bringing the squirming arachnid to the ground in seconds.

"Whoa," Turin said breathlessly, astonished by what he'd just accomplished. It took a few seconds for him to recover, but once he did, he withdrew his sword and hopped off the spider's corpse. Then he smiled at me, waiting to be praised. "Tell me, how did I do?"

A slow clapping sound formed the response to his question as the three elves emerged from the forest, completely unharmed. Ceasing his applause, Elrohir approached the spider's corpse and surveyed the damage. "Not bad," he eventually said. "Not bad at all. Turns out, you're not as useless as we thought."

Turin beamed with pride, but then he snuck in a quick insult. "And, to think, I did this without any help."

Elrohir quickly caught on. "Yes, but ours was much bigger."

Turin shook his head in disapproval. "We are warriors. We don't rely on excuses."

"You're no warrior yet," the elf countered, but Turin was no longer listening. Closing off his ears to all negativity, the boy continued to bask in the glory of his victory, strutting away from the elf with his head held high.

Sensing that the forest was now safe, Beinion slowly crept back out from his hiding spot. Then, being careful to avoid the spider carcass, the selfish lord quickly dug out his cloak from the rubble, dusted it off, and then threw it back on before approaching Turin, saying to him, "You have much skill with a blade, I see. It was very impressive, so impressive that I have decided to make you my personal bodyguard. Seeing as I am currently without one, you will do just—"

Finally able to release his anger, Turin smashed his fist into Beinion's face and knocked him to the ground; then, straightening himself, Turin smiled and stepped over the injured noble, who lay cradling his bleeding nose. He gave a content sigh and said, "Well, shall we continue?"


	14. Thranduil's Halls

**Okay, I'm really sorry this chapter took so long. Three months is just unacceptable, and nobody is more frustrated than I am. I promise the next chapter won't be nearly as long of a wait. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you're struggling to remember previous chapters (which is my fault, sorry!), I recommend you reread the end of Chapter 9 because a character that was briefly mentioned will be entering the storyline once more, but he won't make a full appearance until the next chapter. Just giving you a heads-up.  
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><p><span>Chapter 14: Thranduil's Halls<span>

Our encounter with the great spiders had steered us far off course, forcing us to take an alternative path that stretched deep into the forest and past the mountains. We spent three days navigating through the Wood of Greenleaves, seldom stopping for rest. Among our party, it was easy to distinguish the elves from the men: as we walked, the elves looked to the trees, embracing their environment with a deep fascination, while the men focused on the ground, carefully watching their aching feet. I too could rarely tear my eyes from the unfamiliar terrain, but I found satisfaction in simply observing the elves and noting their ever-changing expressions, none so dynamic as Legolas's. His eyes alone carried this wondrous gleam that grew brighter and brighter the further we hiked. Occasionally, he would just stop without warning to admire the scenery, and at night I would often find him sitting atop the tree branches, enjoying peaceful solitude. Honestly, I didn't understand how he could find a gloomy wood of dead trees so captivating, yet he gazed at them like they were the most precious things in the world. But maybe it wasn't simply about the trees; maybe it was the memories attached to them that made him smile. I wondered what it was like all those years ago, when the trees were still green and full of life, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not see it.

"How long since you last walked these woods, Legolas?" Elladan asked.

"Over two hundred years," the elf answered, a nostalgic smile on his face. "After being absent for so long, I admit, I feel like a stranger. Much has changed."

Elladan nodded his head in agreement. "Rivendell felt foreign to me as well."

"You two have lost touch," Elrohir concluded as he hopped onto a fallen tree log, where he stood for a few seconds, inhaling the musty scent of the forest. "I, however, feel perfectly at home here, as if I had never left."

He remained atop the log for only a few more seconds before his twin roughly shoved him off. That was the first time I'd ever heard an elf's feet make noise upon hitting the ground, but the sound was still far too quiet to describe with my limited vocabulary. As soon as he recovered, Elrohir returned the favor earnestly, pushing his brother back so hard that he nearly slammed into one of the trees, but the nimble elf managed to catch himself at the last minute. The two were laughing the entire time.

"What do you think would have happened if we had never departed these lands?" Elladan asked his brother after they'd declared a silent truce between them.

"Well, one thing is certain," Elrohir replied as he gently flicked the bare branch of a tree. "Middle-earth would be much greener."

I'd probably asked myself that same question a million times, especially in the winter, when the sun would disappear for months and the air would become so cold that you couldn't even step outside. Seven years ago, we experienced the coldest, darkest winter of the Fourth Age. Bundled beneath countless layers of fur, Winnie and I would spend all day in our room just staring out the window and wondering why the sun had gone away. Having no other explanation, I came up with my own: I said it was because all the elves had left Middle-earth. Yes, I blamed them for snow that covered the flowers, for the grey clouds that blocked the sun, and for the sickness that later struck my sister and nearly took her life. For that winter, I hated the elves; I thought they were selfish for taking away all the beauty of the world and then leaving us with this frigid wasteland. Even now, long after the snow had melted and the sun had returned, a small part of me still harbored those bitter thoughts. Deep down, I believed they were just as responsible for Middle-earth's destruction as we were. After all, they were the ones who left in the first place.

"Middle-earth no longer needs the elves," Beinion spat, using the sleeve of his tunic to wipe away the dry blood from his broken nose, though the stain still remained on his cheek. "This is the age of men."

Elladan's grey eyes hardened as he turned to glance at the young lord. "Indeed it is," he replied, but his eyes conveyed a much different response.

In the gaze of all three elves, I found a coldness far worse than the chilling winter I'd experienced as a child. It was the same expression the dungeon guard wore before he snapped Elrohir's bow, the same expression Turin wore whenever he was called a peasant, the same expression I wore every time I looked upon Beinion's smirking face. It was hatred, pure hatred, for all men, even their own companions. That was when I finally understood the reason why our fellowship had never truly united. They hated us as much as we hated them, and from such hatred there could never be trust.

I was torn between emotions. On one hand, I was deeply angered by their inability to admit their own guilt. How could we be expected to take all the blame for something they'd contributed to? They treated Middle-earth like a child's toy. Once they got tired of playing with it, they tossed it aside and moved on to the next toy. Now, two hundred years later, they were angry because another child broke it? Well, I would say to them the same thing Mother told me when Winnie ripped the head off my old doll: "You should have taken better care of it."

But on the other hand, I felt very ashamed. I had so much respect and admiration for the elves, especially Legolas, but right now he was looking down at me like I was a piece of horse manure stuck on the bottom of his boot. When his focus finally settled on me alone, I couldn't even hold his gaze for long; I lowered my eyes like a guilty child. Never before had I felt so small.

The elves soon returned to their effortless stride, which by now even Turin had stopped trying to match. He walked beside me, but my steps were noticeably slower than his, heavier, for I was filled with weariness; it weighed me down like an anchor at sea, pulling me further into a suffocating depression. I felt as dead as the forest, dull and empty inside, but just as I thought this, something caught my eye. In the distance, on the top branch of a dying black tree clung a tiny green leaf, gently flickering in the breeze. It was just one leaf, barely the size of my finger, but if it was meant to serve as a glimpse of the wood's past beauty, then I could finally understand its magnificence.

"Elladan was right," I said to Turin, stepping closer to him as we walked along. "This forest is not dead."

"You think so?" he replied doubtfully. "It certainly looks dead."

I shook my head, feeling a smile beginning to spread across my face without restraint. "This place is incredible!"

"Incredible?" Stopping, he gently grasped my shoulders and stared down at me with skeptical eyes. Then he placed the back of his hand against my forehead, checking for a fever that certainly didn't exist. When he pulled away again, he sighed deeply and said, "I think this forest is starting to drive you mad."

No, I knew I wasn't going mad. This forest was indeed alive, only sleeping, and now, at last, it was awakening once more. Even when I was young, I believed that all nature was somehow tied to the elves, though I knew they were not the creators. My old nursemaid was keen on telling creation stories, all of which were silly and unfounded. Why, she once told me that the earth was formed from the severed fingers of a giant, and his calluses created the great mountain ranges of Middle-earth. She also told me that elves were simply manifestations of nature, and when we started cutting down the forests and drying up the lakes, they too began to vanish. Of all her stories, that was the one that struck me the hardest. That very night, I had Father write a letter to the king in order to save the trees from being cut down, but Mother refused to let me send it, deeming it childish and absurd. Looking back, I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I had been able to send the letter. Would it have made a difference? No, it probably wouldn't have.

"Look there," Elladan called, slowing his pace so that he could walk alongside me. He pointed toward a high branch that seemed to be sprouting a new leaf with every blink of my eyes, with buds opening like tiny fingers stretching out toward the sun. "Its sleep has finally ended."

"This is impossible," I said breathlessly. "Things like this just cannot be real."

"But you are seeing it with your own eyes, are you not?" He countered with a cheeky smirk. "How can you say it is not real?"

"Oh, but I cannot always trust my eyes, especially when elves are involved," I replied smartly, flashing a smirk to match his. "You see, I've heard stories of your trickery. Men and women alike claim to have lost their spouses to the beauty of elves, with just a single glance! One fisherman was driven so mad that he set fire to his own cottage while his wife lay asleep in her bed, and then he walked straight into the sea to drown. Villagers sometimes use this story as a cautionary tale for adulterous women, but most just use it to expose the evil magic of elves."

"Evil magic?" the elf interjected, clearly amused by my story. "What exaggerated stories these villagers tell! I can do no magic, and neither can any other elf I know. What is _magic_ to you, anyway? This must be a creation of men, for I have only heard men speak of it, and they use the word so vaguely; everything is magical to them."

I couldn't help but laugh, for even I used that word to describe the elves and their strange ways, but I didn't know how to explain it so that Elladan would understand our thinking.

"Some of the things you do just seem so ... impossible," I said, struggling to find the right word. "Your very existence is so foreign and mysterious to us that we can only describe it as magical."

"But what about us is so magical?"

"Everything!" I answered with a little more enthusiasm than necessary, but I quickly recovered. "To you, it all seems completely natural, but to us, even looking into your eyes seems so ..." I found it hard to finish my sentence with Elladan's mesmerizing eyes staring straight into mine. They were just so curious and innocent, almost childlike. "Really, it's unlike anything else," I finally managed to say.

His brow began to wrinkle. "How strange."

Feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment, I quickly snapped out of my daze and forced myself to look away. That elf's eyes were like a perfectly constructed trap; once he caught you in his gaze, it was almost impossible to tear your eyes away no matter how hard you tried. I'd fallen into his trap countless times, and even now I wasn't completely immune to him. But he was not the elf from the Fellowship, and for that I cursed my luck. I'd finally found an elf who not only looked like the elf I'd imagined, but also possessed his exact qualities, and yet he was not that elf. No, instead, the elf I sought was some quiet recluse whose character fluctuated more than the weather. When he wasn't ignoring my very existence—and everyone else's, for that matter—he was protecting me from harm and discussing topics like love and marriage. Now, of course, he was back to his mysterious, reserved self, and that elf was completely unapproachable in my eyes.

Still, as much as he confused and frustrated me, he piqued my curiosity like no other. I just hoped that I would not be disappointed once I finally solved that riddle of an elf.

"Ana," Turin whispered as he nudged my shoulder. Once I gave him my attention, his tone turned to one of compete fascination. "Look at that!"

He was staring far into the distance, into a place that I would forever call paradise, for it was as close as I would ever get to such a thing. After walking through miles of sleeping trees, we reached a body of water known as the Enchanted River, and it was rightfully called so. The water was so clear and so blue that it almost didn't even look like water; it sparkled as if filled with millions of tiny jewels. But what caught my eye, and likely Turin's as well, was the lush woodland beyond it, which was very much alive and thriving. As soon as I saw it, I immediately thought of the Undying Lands. Back home, there was a small portion of the White Forest that I found most beautiful, where the trees were greener than all others in the wood, and that was my little piece of Aman, my Undying Lands. Whenever I was sad, I would escape there to find peace, but despite my very active imagination, I could not quite capture the real thing. Being here, though, I could almost see it.

Elrohir quickly discovered an old, moss-covered boat nearby, providing us safe transport across the river, which had currents so powerful that we would be swept away with a single step. After Elrohir told us this, Turin called the elf's bluff, but when dared to test the waters, the boy ate his words and hopped onto the boat along with everyone else.

"Well, this wood is not as terrifying as the legends say," Beinion mused as he leaned over the edge of the boat and started scooping water into his hands to wash the dried blood off his face. "Perhaps the legends were false."

"No, the legends are true," Elladan replied as he guided the boat along with his paddle, matching the movements of his twin, who stood at the other side. "This place was once cursed. In fact, that water could once send a man into a deep sleep and steal his most precious memories." As Beinion froze, the elf smirked. "But the waters have since been cleansed, so you probably have nothing to worry about."

As soon as those words left the elf's mouth, Beinion's face turned a sickly pale color. Moaning, the young lord slumped back into his seat and dropped his head between his legs, a position he maintained for the duration of the crossing.

Upon reaching the other side, Legolas hopped off the boat and said to everyone, "We will rest here for the night," and those were his last words to us, for as soon as we began setting up camp, he disappeared into the forest to spend another night in seclusion. By now, I had grown used to this habit of his, but this time was different than the others. Normally, he would linger around camp for a while and pretend to be interested in our discussions—mindless chatter to him, no doubt—but today he seemed to lack the patience even for that. This change me made me all the more curious.

"Ana!" Turin suddenly shoved his hand in front my face and began waving it around. "Are you not listening?"

"He always leaves," I muttered, answering his question without realizing it. When I turned to face him, I saw a small frown on his face, but I paid no attention to it and asked, "Don't you find it strange?"

"I find everything about that elf strange," he answered flatly. "But why do you care all of a sudden? Just days ago, you wanted a balrog to rise up from the ground and eat him, and now he's a curiosity?"

I cringed, remembering all the malicious thoughts I'd once carried for the elf. Early on, it was sometimes hard for me to sleep at night, so to pass the time, I would fantasize about Legolas meeting his tragic end. Over the nights, I'd explored many great deaths, but the fight with the balrog was definitely my favorite because it reminded me of Gandalf the Grey's battle on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. I shared my dream with Turin because I thought it would amuse him, a mistake I would not make a second time. Now, he was using it against me.

"Things are different now," I argued, but I lacked the conviction to appease the great Turin.

"What is different?" he demanded. "What has changed?"

I was reluctant to answer, but ultimately I gave in and murmured, "He is the elf from the Fellowship of the Ring."

My response was met by a long and very awkward silence, interrupted only by the sound of Beinion's fingernails scraping across the inflamed skin of his most recent mosquito bite, his fourth of the day. Then I heard an even worse sound: Turin's roaring laughter. Clearly, he thought my sincere answer was nothing more than a joke.

"He can't be the elf from the Fellowship," Turin declared after recovering. "He has both his legs."

Once again that inescapable legless elf had managed to crawl into our conversation. I desperately wanted to know where he had heard such a ridiculous variation of a classic story. This was history they were destroying, after all!

"For the last time, there was no legless elf!" I shouted, reaching the limit of my patience. "It was Legolas, the elf!"

Turin fell silent again—considering my words carefully, I hoped—and for a good while, he just stood there, rubbing his chin and pursing his lips tightly. He showed promise for about ten seconds, but then he started shaking his head in disagreement.

"No, he can't be the elf," he insisted.

"He is! He told me himself!"

"Oh, Ana, how can you be so blind?" Turin exclaimed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Clearly, he was lying to you! He's just some common elf who enjoys toying with the hearts of silly girls like you. Can't you see the game he's playing? He's just trying to take advantage of you!"

My eyes narrowed, and I didn't even try to hide the hurt in my voice. "So now I'm just a silly girl?"

I was so sick of people not taking me seriously. "Pay no mind to her," they'd always say. To everyone: the guards, the servants, and Mother most of all, I was just some foolish girl who lived in a fantasy world filled with elves, ents, and other creatures who had long disappeared from Middle-earth. But with Turin, I thought for certain he lived in the same world as I did, that we shared the same dreams, but now I was beginning to think it was all a lie to keep me happy.

"Come on," he recanted, trying to lighten the tension with a smile and a laugh, "you know what I meant." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "You're just excited. You're not thinking clearly."

"No," I said more harshly than I intended, and without thinking I pushed his hand away and stepped back. "Whether you believe me or not, it doesn't matter because I know it's him—I know it."

As soon as I left, Turin started shouting for me to come back, begging me not to take his words seriously, but I refused to listen. I marched past the itching, scratching Lord Beinion, past the quarreling twins, and entered the wood, unintentionally following Legolas's exact path, but, of course, I never saw him. I went into the wood to escape from Turin, but once I crossed the tree line, I lost the will to be angry. There was just something about these trees that put my heart at ease. As I sat on the ground amongst the fallen leaves and tiny wildflowers, I could hear nothing but the wind's quiet whistle, and it made me smile. When I was young, I often mistook this whistle for the voices of the trees, and I thought they were trying to speak to me in language I couldn't understand.

Maybe I was a silly girl, after all.

The whistling soon stopped, and for some reason I thought back to what Elladan had said when we'd first entered the forest. He said the trees were alive, even had heartbeats, and if I listened very closely, I could hear them. Although my previous attempt had failed, I thought that maybe in this wood, which was so full of life, I would finally be able to hear it, so I found a tree, the tallest, thickest tree around, and pressed my ear against it. Minutes passed, and a gentle breeze tugged at my hair, tickling my cheek, but I heard nothing. Sighing, I pulled away and frowned at the silent tree. "Am I not ready yet?" I asked even though I knew it wouldn't respond. "No, I don't think so. But one day I will be."

Smiling in defeat, I gazed upwards, allowing my eyes to travel up the massive tree that seemed to reach all the way up to the sky. The height of it was extremely intimidating, yet I had this overwhelming urge to climb. It was strange, this feeling, for I hadn't climbed in years, and I wasn't sure if I could make it, but there it was, impossible to ignore. Abandoning all reason, I climbed and climbed, branch by branch, until I found a place to rest. I ended up stopping at the fourth highest branch, a strong, sturdy branch, and from there I had a view of the entire forest; I could even see the mountain peaks.

"This," I said, slightly out of breath, "is by far the most amazing sight I will ever see."

I could have stayed up there forever, enjoying the fresh air and beautiful landscape, but just as I started to get comfortable, I saw movement on the forest floor beneath me. His body was partially obstructed by the branches, but I saw glimpses of a grey cloak, so I knew it was Turin coming to apologize.

"Turin, leave me alone," I said with a sigh. "I forgive you, okay? It doesn't matter anymore."

When I glanced down again, though, I saw that he still hadn't left. He had a habit of doing this when we were young. Whenever we fought, I would hide up in a tree, and he would wait below, kicking the trunk until I came back down and accepted his apology. Before he could start his assault, however, I delivered my counter-attack: I pulled off my boot and whipped it at him. Now, I wasn't expecting it to hit him—it never did in the past—but today Fate was most kind to me. The boot bounced down branch after branch until it hit its target. I heard the noise; it was a direct hit. Unfortunately, the target wasn't Turin, and I didn't realize what I'd done until he stepped into view, peeking up through the branches, that golden-haired elf whose path always managed to cross mine at the worst possible moment. Turns out, Fate was being unkind, after all.

"Lose something?" Legolas asked, holding up the boot for me to see.

"That might be mine," I replied casually, though there was no hiding the guilty bear foot that dangled over the edge of the branch. "It must have slipped off as I was climbing. A size too big, I think."

A small smirk began to spread across his face, and that was when I decided to abandon the horribly unconvincing lie.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you were somebody else."

"An enemy, clearly," he replied, but then he smiled and asked a question I did not expect: "Would you mind some company?"

I took a moment to survey the limited space around me. "Well, you can try," I started to say, but as soon as those words left my mouth, he began effortlessly climbing up the tree, stopping not even once. It took me nearly ten minutes to climb this high, but he managed to do it in less than one. This great feat gave me yet another reason to admire the elves.

"I did not expect to find you up here," he said after he'd returned my shoe.

"Why is that?"

"Nature is rare interest for men," he replied, "especially trees."

"Well, I love them," I said with a shrug. "As a child, I would spend hours talking to the trees in the forest, believing them to be ents"—I laughed a little—"which is ridiculous, of course, because all the ents fell when they burned Fangorn to the ground."

Legolas's eyes darkened after I spoke, and I could see that somber expression returning to his once peaceful face, the same expression I'd hoped to never see again. Right away, I knew I'd made a great mistake to mention a forest that shared a similar fate to his own home, but as I stared past the Enchanted River and into the wood of black trees, I realized it was an impossible subject to avoid. The Middle-earth he knew and loved no longer existed; everything was gone now, destroyed. I wanted to believe things would get better, really, I did, but it was hard to see the light in all this darkness.

As I grasped the amulet, I thought aloud, "Right now, this little jewel seems pretty insignificant, doesn't it? This world needs no plague. It is already cursed." In hindsight, I should have stopped there, but there was something I had to ask to ease my troubled mind. "Do you ever think, even for a second, that maybe we deserve this?" Again, I considered stopping, but my lips continued to move on their own. "I know you hate us, and I cannot blame you; I would hate us too for what we did. Maybe we should just let fate run its course."

"No," Legolas suddenly said, and his voice was so strong that I was caught off guard. "Not once have I considered it. No man deserves that fate, no matter how corrupt he may be."

Falling silent for a moment, he then opened his mouth only to close it again a few seconds later. He seemed uncertain about something; he was hesitating. I tried to search his face for some kind of clue, but he was impossible to read. Finally, he looked right at me.

"I do not hate you," he said, and for a second I thought he was talking about me specifically. "The blame for Middle-earth's fate cannot be placed in the hands of one race. We caused this, all of us."

Honestly, I wasn't sure if he truly meant what he said or if he was just saying it to make me feel better. Really, it didn't matter. Whether he meant it or not, I was glad to hear him say it.

"It's amazing here," I said to lighten the mood. "If I lived in a place like this, I don't think I would ever leave."

"You like it that much?" he asked.

Smiling, I nodded my head vigorously. "It is unlike any place I've ever seen."

In response, he leaned forward just a little and said in a low voice, "Then I would like to take you somewhere, a place I think you will like very much."

"A place?" I repeated because I couldn't form any thoughts of my own. I was completely mystified by his proposal. An elf, an elf of all people, wanted to take me somewhere. From the look on his face and that glimmer in his eye, I could tell that it was a very special place, an interesting place, and that made me very anxious.

Instead of waiting for an answer, Legolas gave me just one look, one lingering look that ignited my curiosity, and disappeared beneath the branches. By the time I even started my descent, he was already waiting on the ground for me, and so I felt compelled to move faster, but with this speed came recklessness. On the way up, I was carefully watching my foot and hand placement, but this time, I was more focused on reaching the ground. I nearly slipped a few times, but I managed to make it down safely.

"Where are we going?" I asked right away.

Throwing me a playful look, he replied with a small smirk, "Do you really intend to waste time with questions?"

"Well, I ..."

Wasting no more time, he gently took hold of my wrist and pulled me deeper into the wood with him. He was running fast, but not so fast that I was unable to keep up, and his grip on my wrist was loosening with every step he took; soon it had slipped so far that he was holding only my fingers, and his touch was so soft that it seemed intentional. He, of course, was completely unabashed by this, as if he hadn't even noticed. I, on the other hand, was extremely flustered.

_His character is so inconsistent_, I thought as I stared at him in awe. _I never know what to expect from him. _

After exiting the wood, we came upon a stone bridge that led straight into another dark, creepy cave. Considering the last cave I entered was home to hundreds of little monsters and a pack of goblins, I wasn't exactly eager to go inside. I stopped right in the middle of the bridge and refused to go further.

"Another cave?" I said, pulling my hand away from his.

He took a step forward and then turned around to face me. "Do you really think I would put you in harm's way?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe," I answered honestly, backing away from him.

He cracked a small smile and held out his hand once more: palm up, wide open, and very inviting. "Trust me, this place is not dangerous."

I nibbled a little on my bottom lip, still very uncertain. "What is it, exactly?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell you. You will have to see for yourself." He pushed his open hand out further, as if to tempt me. "Interested?"

Yes, more than anything. As soon as he told me of this secret place, my mind started spinning with curiosity. Although I had no idea what it was, I knew for certain that it was something special, something that would bring me closer to the world of the elves and somehow closer to him. This was the moment I'd been waiting for, and I certainly wasn't about let it slip away.

I stepped forward and placed my hand in his. "Okay."

Closing his hand around mine, he led me across the bridge and toward the mouth of the cave. It was a peculiar opening, completely different than other caves I'd seen. The arch was intricately carved, with vines and flowers running throughout, and there was strange lettering etched into the stone, which I could only assume was some form of Elvish. It was absolutely beautiful, yet completely natural, so unlike the arches in the lavishly designed castle in Archet. Part of me wished to stay and admire it for just a bit longer, but a larger part of me wanted to see what lay further ahead, so I followed him into the cave.

The tunnel was pitch-dark, so dark that I couldn't even see Legolas walking right beside me. If I had been there alone, I would have panicked, but the elf's presence comforted me a little. He moved confidently through the tunnel, as if he had walked it a million times before, and his hand left mine only when we finally came to a stop.

"Wait here," he said.

I stood waiting in the dark, and for a while the only thing I could hear was the soft pounding of my heart, but then Legolas started saying something in Elvish, something foreign and utterly captivating. His quiet words filled the darkness, and then a dim golden light began to glow. I first saw it out of the corner of my eye—it was hardly visible—but then it started spreading across the walls, slowly filling the entire hall. It was the vines that were glowing so brightly, as if lit by the sun itself. Just like outside, they lined the high arches and columns, illuminating everything in the most amazing way. Now more than ever, I felt like I'd finally entered their world.

I became completely uncontrollable then, as if something inside me just exploded. I was like a child discovering the world for the first time, and everything, even the tiniest scratch in the stone, held its own fascination. I was standing in the great hall of the Woodland Realm, a place where hundreds of elves once stood. Although they left long ago, I could still feel their presence somehow; in fact, I could almost see them. Gathered together in their finest clothes, the elven men and women were waiting to be addressed by their king, a great elf, wise and respected. Finally, he entered the hall and ascended the great stairs, but he did not sit on his throne; instead he stood before them with a proud smile on his face and a crown of flowers atop his head. A king of kings he was.

When my illusion eventually faded, I found myself standing right in front of the king's throne, a fine chair made of smooth carven wood. Out of respect, I dared not sit on it, but I did touch it just once; I couldn't help it.

"This king," I thought aloud as I delicately traced my fingers across the arm of the chair, "I wonder what his name was."

"His name is Thranduil," Legolas answered, and his voice surprised me because I was so caught up in my fantasy that I'd completely forgotten about his presence.

"Thranduil," I repeated, finding the name oddly familiar. In order to grasp a vague memory, I repeated his name several times in my head, each time trying to match the name to a face. This process eventually brought me back to Lord Elrond's porch, where two elves were arguing about whose son would destroy the amulet. One of those elves, I recalled very distinctly, was Legolas's father.

"Thranduil is your father," I said quietly, though he could hear me clearly with those exceptional ears of his. After he nodded his head, my voice returned to its normal volume. "You are his son, and that makes you ..."

"... a prince," he finished for me, but his voice lacked the arrogance I would expect to hear from any other man. When he spoke, it was as though he was declaring it the most simple title, like a butcher or a farmer, instead of the noble one that so many desperately clung to.

"A prince," I whispered to myself, but the words didn't feel as strange as I thought they would; actually, they felt completely natural.

Before meeting this peculiar elf, I thought I had a knack for reading people, and I prized myself on being a fantastic judge of character. I could tell my nursemaid was a bore after her first story, and I knew Beinion was a snob the moment I met him, but after meeting Legolas, everything began to unravel; all the assumptions I made were proven false one after another, and now I didn't know what to expect from him. But I wasn't angry, not in the least.

I walked down the stairs and joined Legolas by the hall's entrance. "Thank you for bringing me here," I said, "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it."

He smiled. "It was my pleasure. I hoped you would like it."

"How could anyone not like such a place?" I replied earnestly. "This kind of world no longer exists for us—it is but a legend, a myth—and so many have forgotten how special it is, but I haven't, and I refuse to."

His smile grew. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" I asked, confused.

"Speak with such passion, about everything. Some would find it absolutely exhausting."

I smiled. "How else should I speak, if not with passion?"

His smile fell then, and he just stared at me with this odd expression; it was the perfect combination of hesitation and temptation, and it confounded me to no end. If I was a silly girl, as so many thought, I might have mistaken this as a look of affection, or at least the consideration of it, and right now I was feeling very silly.

"It's getting late," I said, looking away to hide my flushed cheeks. "The others are probably wondering where we are."

"Right," he agreed. "You should return to camp."

My eyes widened. "You're not coming?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I would like to stay just a while longer, if that is all right."

"Of course."

"Unless you need me to walk you back to camp," he offered considerately.

"Please, stay," I insisted. "I can manage just fine on my own."

"Are you sure?" he asked, searching my eyes for even the smallest hint of doubt, but he would never find it.

"I'll be fine, I promise."

As I entered the tunnel, I saw him walk toward the throne, and it took all the strength I had not to stay and watch the elf from afar. But he needed to be alone, and I respected him too much to pry. He wasn't at all like I thought he would be, the elf from the Fellowship, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing; and while my feelings for him weren't as strong as they should have been, I did respect him, and that was good enough for now.

At last, I felt like I'd finally made a mature decision, and I walked back to camp with my head held high, but when I saw Beinion coming toward me, all that pride began to fade away, leaving me with a very sour taste in my mouth.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, closing the distance between us. "I have been searching everywhere for you."

"Where I go is no concern of yours," I fiercely replied as I tried to move past him, but he quickly caught my wrist and pulled me back. Normally, I would attempt to wiggle free, but I knew now that it was futile; he would never let me go, so I just stood there, glaring down at the dagger that was sheathed at my waist and wanting nothing more than to drive it straight into his heart.

With his free hand, he took my chin and pulled my eyes to his. "Why must you fight me, Anariel?" he asked gently, but the look in his eye was anything but. "It hurts me to see you suffer, really it does, but you give me no choice." His fingers soon left my chin and drifted up to the faint welt that remained on my cheek. Like a proud artist admiring his masterpiece, he traced around my bruise with his fingertips. "Women like you," he said, "seem to respond only to violence."

"You cannot hurt me," I said confidently, but my voice was weak.

"Is that so?" he challenged, narrowing his eyes.

I'd just taken a single breath when he suddenly slammed me against a tree with great force, knocking out all the air I'd taken in. As I stood gasping for air, he pinned my arms tightly to the trunk and then threw all his weight into me, making it even harder for me to breathe.

"Do you think that elf will come to your rescue again?" he taunted, pushing so hard against my arms that the tree bark was beginning to cut into my skin. "Do you think he can stop me?"

"You're nothing more than a coward," I managed to choke out, and the more I spoke, the stronger I became. "Just a spineless little boy who can only prey on those weaker than him. But I am not afraid of you, Beinion."

My words ignited a fire in the young fox's eyes, and this time he didn't even try to conceal his anger. Taking my throat, he pulled me away from the tree and then threw me straight to the ground, where he began kicking me repeatedly in the stomach, screaming furiously at the top of his lungs, "I am the son of a mighty conqueror, and like him I will burn cities to the ground in the name of the Great King! My conquests will be legendary!"

Amidst his kicking, I was slowly able to lift my head from the ground, and with my elbows supporting my weight, I glared straight into his eyes. "Hobbits. Your father conquered hobbits. What glory can be had from that?"

After delivering one final kick to my gut, Beinion knocked me onto my back and then climbed on top of me, straddling my legs and shackling my wrists with his hands. When I was fully restrained, he leaned back and looked down at me with a wicked smile.

"Yes, hobbits," he said, his eyes burning with a mad rage. "We drove them from their homes, slaughtered those who fought back, and enslaved whoever remained: men, women, and children." Then he lowered his lips to my ear and whispered, "But you will be begging for their fate when I am finished with you, my dear, sweet wife."

As he spoke, his knee started brushing against my leg, slowly raising the skirt of my dress, which had already climbed up to my knee. Was this the madness Mother warned me of when I was young, the crazy lust that resulted when a man was pushed too far by the woman he desired? Somehow, I knew it would eventually come to this, but I thought it would happen on our wedding night, not in such a beautiful forest as this. It felt wrong for such a vial act to be committed in such a pure, innocent place. But I knew one thing for certain—I made a promise to myself long ago—no matter what, I would fight him with every inch of my being, so I drove my knee straight into that vital organ that separated our genders, and then I did it once more for good measure.

Groaning loudly, Beinion rolled off me and fell onto his back, clutching his injured appendage with both hands, but I refused to stop there. Taking my dagger, I threw myself on top of him and pressed the blade right to his throat. It was quite amazing how fast all the pain washed away from his face once he realized his life was in danger.

"If you ever touch me again," I threatened, "I swear, it will be the last thing you ever do!"

But the arrogant lord just laughed.

"You cannot kill me, Anariel," he said, his eyes focusing on my trembling hand. "You know it, and I know it."

"You're wrong."

I tightened my grip on the hilt, desperately trying to steady my hand, but it just kept shaking. There was no reason to hesitate or feel remorseful. He deserved to die, and I had every right to kill him. As long as he lived, my pain and suffering would never end. This was the only way to free myself.

_Just die! _I mentally screamed as I pulled back the dagger and plunged it toward his bare throat with all my strength, but I couldn't even leave a scratch. Suddenly, my blade stopped just short of his neck, as if some invisible barrier had been placed between us, and it was impenetrable. He was right; I couldn't kill him. Like a pathetic girl, all I could do was run away, and so I took off without any sense of direction; I ran just to get away, and I kept on running until my feet refused to let me go further, convinced that if I stopped for even a moment, he would catch me and finish what he started.

Deep into the forest and far from camp, I stumbled into a part of the wood that felt different somehow, darker. All around me, I could hear faint whispers in a language I couldn't understand, and shadowy figures crept along the borders of my vision only to disappear when I turned around. One of those shadowy figures, I distinctly noticed, had the shape of a woman, the same woman I'd seen once in a dream. Just like before, her bewitching voice was calling out to me, telling me to follow her, and I was helpless against it. My feet followed her beckoning voice heedlessly as her dark, wispy form appeared and vanished before my eyes, twisting and bending around the trees. She led me all the way into a small ring of trees, where she stopped at the northernmost tree and then disappeared, but not before tracing her long, misty fingers along the black arrow that protruded from the trunk. Its red fletching stood out against the dark tree bark, instantly reminding me of the cut I still bore on my cheek, a wound dealt from a similar arrow.

My eyes widened. "He's here."

With so much happening, I'd nearly forgotten about the elf who'd attacked us days ago. He came so swiftly and disappeared just as fast, but he left a lasting impact on our fellowship, none so strong as the wound he left Elrohir, which had only recently finished healing. If that arrow was in fact his, and I knew it was, then I had to find the others quickly.

Spinning around, I started running back the way I came, hoping meet at least one of my companions along the way. By now, they had to be looking for me, and with three elves on the hunt, they couldn't have been far. I was confident that I could reach them in time, and I eventually did, but it was not who I was expecting.

Out from the trees came Turin, completely alone, without an elf in sight. Like a fool, he'd decided to turn the search for me into a competition and separated himself from the rest of the fellowship. When he saw me, his first reaction was to boast about how he'd bested the elves at their own game, deeming his senses superior to theirs, and only when he stopped bragging long enough to see the look of sheer terror on my face did he finally show concern.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go," I murmured, unable to control the panic in my voice. Desperately, I clutched his arm and began pulling him along, but he resisted me with all the strength he had. Finally, with one hard tug, he ripped his arm away and grabbed my shoulders to restrain me.

"What happened?" he asked, his eyes full of worry.

"He's here!" I shrieked. "The elf from before, he's here in this forest!"

But Turin was no longer listening to me; he wasn't even looking at me. Instead, he was staring right past me, his eyes narrow and focused on something in the far distance. I opened my mouth to speak, but he clamped his hand over my lips before I could utter a sound and told me to be quiet. His tone was serious, more serious than I'd ever heard.

"Can you hear that?" he asked.

Quieting my breathing, I strained my ears to listen. The sound was faint at first, but then it began to grow—the steady clang of metal on metal partnered with deep, sporadic grunts. By now, I'd become accustomed to the sound, but I was still surprised to hear it now.

I pulled his hand from my face. "Orcs."

He nodded his head. "And they're coming this way."

"Then we have to run," I said. "The others can't be far."

As I spoke, Turin remained concentrated on the approaching army, surveying their movements from a distance, waiting for the perfect time to strike, as was Turin's way. His fingers were already inching toward the hilt of his sword. This boy would never flee from a battle, and nor would I. Yes, I would probably be slain, but at least I would die the proper way, a warrior's death, with a blade in my hand and my greatest ally at my side.

"We must fight," I declared as I too began to reach for my dagger, but my fingers had just barely tickled the hilt when I felt Turin's hand on mine, halting my movements. Startled, I cast my gaze upwards only to find him smiling down at me.

"Not you," he said, his eyes full of strength. "Today, you must run."

"What?" I couldn't believe my ears. "But what about you?"

"I am a warrior, Ana," he replied boldly, flashing a large grin to match his brazen attitude. "Turin the Great does not run from orcs."

There was something hidden behind his smile, though, a secret he kept locked away behind his lips. I'd seen his confident, boastful grin at least a hundred times, but this one was different. His green eyes lacked the brassy luster of his smile; they were dull and full of anguish, but they were trying their hardest to shine. Somehow, Turin the Great knew he would not survive this battle, and he accepted his fate. For me, he was ready to sacrifice his own life, but I wasn't ready to lose him.

"Come with me," I pleaded with tears forming in my eyes. "We're supposed to finish this together. You promised you would be there with me to the end. You and me, like Sam and Frodo."

By now, the tears were freely falling down my cheeks, and Turin was trying his best to stop them. Gently cupping my face, he wiped away my tears as they fell, but he could not dry them all, and soon his hands became drenched with my warm tears. With nothing left to do, he pulled me into a tight embrace and held me as I sobbed into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Ana," he said as he suddenly grasped my shoulders and pushed me away. His touch was rough and firm, but his tone of voice was even harsher. "You are not Frodo, I am not Sam, and this is not the Fellowship of the Ring."

A single tear rolled down my cheek, the last I would shed for him, and then his voice softened.

"This is your adventure," he told me as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "and you must see it to the end, but without me."

"Turin ..."

Releasing me, he took a step back and bowed his head, the first time he'd ever done such a thing. When he rose again, he wore a small smile, and he said, "If this should be my last stand, Anariel, it has been a pleasure fighting alongside you."

I forced a smile. "The pleasure was mine."

"Go now," he ordered as he turned to face his opponents, who were fast approaching. Their thundering stomps and savage grunts interrupted the tranquil wood, destroying the serene paradise I'd come to love. Still, I would have to say goodbye to it. My movements were staggered, and every step was a struggle, but I was able to begin my retreat, and when I was about ten feet away, Turin gave one last request:

"I want to be remembered as a hero, not as a fool, so when you tell this story, leave out my senseless antics."

I giggled quietly, feeling a tear sting my eye, but I refused to let it fall; instead, I smiled and replied, "Then I would have nothing to tell."

We shared a laugh, the last laugh we would ever share, and then Turin drew his sword from its sheath and admired it for the last time. Ever since he was young, it had been his dream to wield a great sword, and now, at last, that moment had come. He would finally become the hero he was destined to be, and when facing death, he would show no fear, for this was the path he was meant to take.

"Warriors to the end," he muttered to himself, and I could just barely read his lips. Then, taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and proudly announced for all to hear, "And I am Turin the Great. I may not be a king or a knight, but today I will achieve greatness!"

Sword in hand, Turin charged his enemy with the strength of a thousand men, and that was the last I saw of him before my departure. I would never know how many orcs he killed or how he was defeated; all I would have are the memories of a young boy with a wooden sword, who would later go on to become one of the greatest warriors I'd ever known.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Please, review!**


	15. Wildfire

**It's been a while, hasn't it?** **I'm really sorry about that, but school's been hectic, and I've made things worse by deciding to transfer schools.  
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**Couple things: First, this was originally going to be one long chapter, but since I'm not finished with the second half yet, I've decided to split it into two parts. Second, I have added some new details to some of the previous chapters, like with Turin's story about his past. I've also added a coat of arms for each noble house. Erudin's ruling house, for instance, is represented by a white stag, while Archet's is a red fox. These also serve as city banners. On my profile there is a link that contains pictures of the arms, as well as a few character images.  
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**As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading.  
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><p><span>Chapter 15: Wildfire <span>

Turin had always been a warrior, even when we were children. With his wooden sword, he would spend hours training in the stables, from dusk to dawn sometimes, until his hands were bloody and full of splinters. Surprisingly, he did quite well by himself, something that shocked even the guards, who sometimes watched him at night. One guard, however, was not so happy with his progress. He believed a peasant like Turin had no right to learn swordplay, so he took it upon himself to teach the boy a lesson he would never forget. One spring night when the moon was half full, he approached Turin in the stables and challenged him to a friendly sparring match. The young boy eagerly accepted. With a broad, excited grin, Turin drew his sword and settled into his clumsy fighting stance, but his wooden blade was no match for the guard's steel, and the guard showed no mercy. After quickly disarming the amateur, he proceeded to beat the boy violently with his own sword—a stick, he called it—and no matter how many times Turin cried, "Yield!" the guard would not stop, not even when the poor boy was choking on his own blood. Turin suffered thirty-two beatings that night, and while the bruises healed, the guard's last words remained forever ingrained in the boy's mind:

"Wood," he said, "can never become steel."

When Turin later shared that story, he told me not to take pity on him. He was glad it happened because it made him stronger, and the very next day, he forged another sword, one even greater than the last, and resumed his training. It didn't matter if nobody else believed in him; he believed in himself. He knew if he trained hard enough, he would one day earn a real sword. Until then, he would have to settle for twigs, and his only opponents would be shrubs, trees, and the occasional chicken—good for developing speed, so he said. When those failed to satisfy him, he did try to challenge another boy, but that didn't quite end the way he wanted.

It was the day after my ninth birthday, and I'd somehow managed to get captured by the evil orc king, played most convincingly by the butcher's boy, who'd recently hit a massive growth spurt that gave him the body of a troll. Turin, a hobbit in comparison, thought he could defeat his opponent with his quick feet and precision. That tactic, however, didn't seem to be working, and he'd already lost one of his greatest allies, Winnie the dwarf, who was tragically slain by the evil king within the first five minutes of battle. She lay a few feet away from us, occasionally returning to life in order to swat the bugs that flew too close to her. Still, Turin fought on.

"Your reign of terror has ended!" Turin declared as he thrust his sword forward, just narrowly missing his beastly opponent. "I will defeat you and save the fair lady."

The king laughed. "Your movements are too slow. She will remain my slave forever!"

Meanwhile, the fair lady was standing right behind the pair of them. Honestly, I didn't know how I'd managed to get saddled with that role, but there I stood, and my only instructions were to act terrified and gasp whenever Turin appeared to be losing. Needless to say, I was doing a lot of gasping.

"Why must I be the captive?" I eventually protested, folding my arms over my chest. "I think I'm quite capable of saving myself."

"The brave knight needs a damsel to save," Turin argued. "It's what happens in all the great stories!"

"I'm no damsel!" I yelled, and then muttered under my breath, "Besides, I would have saved myself by now."

In frustration, Turin dropped his guard for just a second, but that was all the king needed to defeat him, and before either of us knew it, the battle was over; the evil king had his blade pressed right against the side of Turin's neck. If it had been a real battle, Turin's throat would have turned into an open ale cask, pouring out more blood than the evil orc king could drink. Thankfully, it was only an imaginary wound, and the only thing flowing from Turin was a mouthful of obscenities. For a boy of nine, he had a very colorful vocabulary, something he likely picked up from the guards.

"What was that?" Turin hollered.

The king withdrew his sword and grinned. "I just killed you. Your head's off."

"No, it's not! That doesn't count; I was distracted!"

The king shrugged. "A great knight never gets distracted."

"But I did, so it doesn't count!"

"Of course it does!"

Soon, their argument was interrupted by Winnie's whiny voice. She'd risen from the dead once more to complain about her itching skin and dirty dress. "Mother will be angry with me," she told us.

Rolling his eyes, Turin turned to her and shouted, "No talking! You're supposed to be dead!"

Winnie glared at him for a few seconds before flopping back to the ground. "Oh, how I hate this game."

After his fallen comrade had been silenced, Turin returned to the matter at hand and said to the unreasonable king, "We have to start over. I am Turin the Great, the last hero of Middle-earth, so I cannot lose. The great knight always wins!"

He would resort to that same defense many times in the future, especially when we fought each other, but it could not save him now. At the tender age of seventeen, Turin the Great was gone, and it was all my fault. If the divine beings, whoever they were, were kind enough to grant me one wish, I would wish to go back to the day I took this stupid necklace. If given a second chance, I would not make the same mistake; I would save Turin. But what did that matter now? There was nobody to grant my wish. I was alone in some dark forest, and now I didn't even have the sun to keep me company.

It always seemed so much easier in the stories. When Father first told me about the Fellowship of the Ring, I thought it was this fun and exciting adventure, but I had no idea he was skipping all the sad parts just to keep me from crying. He never spoke of Gandalf's fall at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, and he only briefly alluded to Boromir's tragic defeat. If I hadn't heard the guards talking about it one day, I probably would have never known. Like always, Father was trying to protect me from all the bad things in the world, but maybe it did more harm than good. The real thing was so much harder than I thought it would be, and I wasn't prepared to handle it, not alone. I didn't know what to do.

For hours, I scurried around from tree to tree, always on the run, always alert, always fearing whatever lurked in the darkness. The night was the orcs' most loyal ally; like a great shield it covered the forest and masked their movements in shadow, allowing them to creep about the wood undetected by my mortal eyes. In near blindness, I could rely only on my untrained ears, and everything, even the harmless chirp of a cricket, sent me into a panic. With my dagger permanently affixed to my hand, I crept in the darkness, ready to attack whatever enemy I found, be it orc, spider, man, or elf. No matter what, I had to survive this night; I had to survive long enough for my companions to find me, and they would find me—Legolas would find me. I might not have had much confidence in my abilities, but I had the utmost confidence in his, for his was the elf from the Fellowship of the Ring. Even now I could still remember, word for word, the passage that Father spoke to introduce him:

_"And among the Fellowship walked an elf, as limber as a young sapling, strong and swift, with eyes that could see for miles and ears that could hear a leaf fall from a tree. A most valuable member, he was. And as his companions' bodies began to slow and fatigue, the elf tirelessly continued on, for he was endowed with the vitality of the elves, an enduring spirit that required not even sleep, or at least sleep as we know it to be."_

After Father presented the elf to me, I begged him to repeat the introduction again and again until I could recite it from memory, and over the years, each time the passage came from my lips, I found myself embellishing the words, as was likely done so many times before me. I created new adventures for him, new battles, just to keep him alive in my memory. For ten years, he was all I could think of, a great hero I could always rely on, and so I had faith in him now, just as I had faith in Elladan and Elrohir, not just because they were elves, because they were great warriors, great people, and after this quest was over, whether we failed or succeeded, I hoped to forever have their friendship.

But first I had to survive the night.

Across the forest floor I ran as the wood came alive with the sounds of orcs, and no longer could I hear anything else, not the hoot of an owl nor the howl of a wolf. It was as if all life had vanished; even the trees were still, their branching hanging lifelessly in the silent air. Then, slowly, the faint smell of smoke drifted into my nostrils, growing more pungent the more I inhaled. Orcs, Father once told me, were wretched beasts capable only of destruction, and now they were burning down the Wood of Greenleaves, taking away what might've been the last great forest of Middle-earth. From atop the hill, I could see the red-orange glow of the flames; it stood out so brilliantly against the black of night. If the situation had been different, I would have thought it was a beautiful sight, but not this night. Tonight, it was a tragedy.

For a while, I just stood there watching the flames descend upon the forest, eating away the wood branch by branch until there was nothing left but ash and soot. Above the treetops, the smoke had risen so high that it could have snuffed out the stars, but the sky had gone dark long before the smoke came. When the darkness fell, the stars were the first to go; little by little, their light began to diminish until it was no more. The very same was beginning to happen to the sun and the moon; with each passing day, they fell dimmer and dimmer before my eyes. It was as if Valmoria herself was stretching her hand across the sky and blocking their light from us. She was growing stronger—I could feel it—and soon she would wake, bringing with her a plague that would destroy Middle-earth. And as I watched the Wood of Greenleaves burn, I understood just how bad that plague could be. This, I realized, was only the beginning.

As the fire consumed the wood, I saw two faint lights appear in the far right corner of my vision, torches being carried by two angry orcs. I could hear their voices clearly in the quiet forest; they were complaining about their aching legs and empty stomachs. One orc, the one who seemed to be complaining the most, had a very distinct nasally tone, the same kind of tone Winnie often had whenever she spent too much time in the fields. He stopped every few minutes, even mid-sentence sometimes, and made a disgusting spitting sound before roughly clearing his throat and continuing again. The other orc, I observed, had a much deeper voice and spoke less, often emitting only a low grunt in response. Together, the two orcs navigated through the trees, and I slowly followed, growing closer and closer the bolder I became. I wanted to see them, after all. I wanted to see the beasts who were destroying the most beautiful place I'd ever known.

Again, they stopped to allow the orc to relieve himself of whatever vile substance coated his throat, but they did not continue on after he'd finished; instead, they lingered among the trees for a while. By now, I was within twenty feet of them, hidden carefully from sight, but I could see them perfectly. The smaller of the two was rubbing his nose and coughing while the larger one glared down at him with disdain. After spitting once more and subsequently clearing his throat, the smaller orc started talking again in that nasally voice that seemed to annoy even his ally.

"We've been searchin' this forest all night, and I still ain't seen no girl. Nearly a month it's been since we 'ad a decent meal, and I'm gettin' sick of scavenging like rats! We shoulda never agreed to follow that elf; he ain't leadin' us nowhere!"

"I follow no one," said the other with a grunt, "especially no elf."

The small orc bent over to cough again, and after wiping his mouth, he rose and kicked the tree nearest to him. "Man, I hate trees!" he bitterly muttered before kicking it once more. "Burn the forest down, he said. Smoke 'em all out, he said." Then he rose his torch and captured its lowest branch in the fire. "Well, an order's an order, ain't it?"

I watched in horror as the fire mercilessly climbed up the branch, quickly engulfing the defenseless tree. In its pain, the tree cried tears of ember that became swept away in the wind, spreading its sadness to whatever they touched. The orc laughed gleefully at his destruction and then ignited a second tree. If my ears weren't deaf to their voices, I might've heard their screams.

"Burn!" he cried manically. "Burn!"

As the cruel orc moved on to a third tree, his larger partner gave a disinterested snort and walked away, leaving him to enjoy his chaos alone. With his torch, he moved on to a fourth tree and a fifth, but his brutality was not limited to burning. With his axe, he then began mercilessly hacking off the limbs of several trees, grunting and growling with the fury of a mad warrior on the battlefield. But this was no battle—it was a slaughter. The trees had no voice to protest, no means of defending themselves; they could only stand there and bear their pain in silence. They were no different than the innocent hobbits and dwarves, who had suffered by no fault of their own, or the ents, who had tried to preserve the natural beauty of the world ... or Turin, who had hoped to prove his worth. But this world showed no mercy toward the innocent, for it knew none, and so it would let them fall into misery, while the corrupt grew more powerful. Too many were voiceless—too many were like trees. I thought I was a tree; as a girl, I thought there was nothing I could do, but I was wrong. I had a voice, a voice that was strong and unwavering, and if needed, it could speak for those who could not. Tonight, I could speak for the trees.

And I could fight for them.

In the darkness I watched him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, while the orc grew tired. His assault on the forest had left him out of breath, sending him into yet another coughing spell. On his knees he soon fell, leaving his back completely exposed, and I took full advantage of the opportunity. With my dagger drawn, I crept up behind him, my quiet steps masked by the roaring fire, and then, just as he began to rise from the ground, I plunged the dagger into the side of his neck, right beneath his pointed ear. As soon as the blade pierced his flesh, the orc went rigid, and then his body began to twitch as black blood dripped from his quivering lips. He might've been trying to speak, call for help even, but he could make no sound. And I watched him twitch, for a long while actually, and then I wondered if this orc had seen Turin in battle, if he had faced him, if he had killed him. To think that such a pathetic, sniveling little worm could have slain Turin the Great. My Turin.

Suddenly, I was beside myself, watching with terror as a rageful young girl showered blows upon the orc's motionless corpse. He was lying face-first on the ground, and she was right on top of him, madly stabbing him repeatedly with her dagger, as if he were still alive and threatening. Eight, nine, ten times she stabbed him, and he never moved. His black blood was all over her. On her hands. On her face. It stained the beautiful dress the elves had gifted her, like black ink soaking into parchment, but she didn't care. In her mind, she saw only Turin, and she would not stop until the pain in her heart went away ...

... and the hobbits were given their homes, and the dwarves their mines ...

... and the black trees turned green again ...

... and Turin returned to her.

When I finally rejoined my other self, I had fallen onto the orc's mangled body, and I was weeping. My warm tears mixed with the black blood that had begun to pool in his numerous neck and back wounds. His leather armor was full of holes that leaked sour blood. I could still taste a bit of it on my lips. All life was gone from him, but it hadn't changed anything. The hobbits and dwarves were still suffering. The trees were still burning. And Turin was still gone.

I stared down at the dagger clutched in my hand. The very sight of it disgusted me. Over and over, I wiped it with my skirt, but it would never be clean, not as it was before.

After sheathing my dagger, I rose to my feet and looked to the burning trees. I prayed they would forgive me for causing them so much pain, and I prayed it would all end soon. Then I left it all behind and continued east, hoping to reach the forest's end, or at least escape the chasing fire. Even if I never rejoined the fellowship, I would continue on somehow. If needed, I could do it alone; I could find Rhûn on my own. All I needed was the amulet. It would lead me there, I knew it would. I just had to let it in. I had to let her in.

But would that be wise?

I pushed my way into a ring of trees bound so tightly that it seemed to form some sort of a barrier. Outside, the fire was destroying the entire wood. Leaves melted right off the branches and fell like fiery rain, igniting the forest floor. Trees succumbed to the flames and fell like giants tripping over their feet, crushing everything below. The forest was lost, but inside this ring of trees, all was quiet, peaceful, and I almost felt safe.

I decided to let her in.

Closing my eyes, I freed my mind of its noisy thoughts and listened for her voice. My breaths fell quiet, my heartbeat slowed, and in the silence, I heard her speak to me, whispering in that enchanting voice, faintly at first but growing louder with each passing word. When I finally opened my eyes, she was right in front of me, closer than she'd ever been, and I gasped and stumbled back a few paces. I could almost see her face now; it was covered with a veil of shadow, but in the dim moonlight I could see the contours of her lips, nose, and eyes. Her eyes were hollow, hauntingly bare, as if someone had scooped them right out of her head, yet somehow I knew she was staring at me, and it frightened me.

She came toward me slowly, effortlessly gliding across the ground like the ghosts from my old nursemaid's stories. Less than a foot away, she stopped and watched me with her empty eyes. I made no effort to move; I couldn't. Then she extended her hand toward me, reaching for the amulet around my neck. Her misty fingers dissolved into the ruby gemstone and came out the other side, grasping nothing. She couldn't have it yet, and I knew it angered her.

Withdrawing her hand, she began to fade away once more, and I felt her paralyzing hold on me beginning to lessen, but before it left completely, she reformed and came at me, entering my body like an inhaled puff of smoke. The ground came rushing fast, but the darkness came faster.

Horrible images passed in and out of my mind, like I was having a million nightmares at once. I saw villages burning and castles crumbling. I saw children lying dead in the fields and mothers weeping in cold, empty houses. I saw heads mounted on spikes and corpses hanging on nooses, swinging back and forth. I saw hobbits working in fields and dwarves working in mines, all in chains. I saw Elladan on the battlefield, cradling his dying brother in his arms, and I saw Legolas kneeling upon the scaffold, a sword at his neck. It all ended with Turin screaming as he was being consumed by dragon fire, his flesh melting clean off his bones.

I awoke in the ring of trees with my back to the ground and my eyes staring into the night sky. The images came back to me slowly, filling my heart with grief, and if I closed my eyes, I could still see the red dragon whose fire had killed Turin. With its wings spread, it seemed to take up the entire sky, and it rained fire upon the land, destroying everything.

A quiet voice extinguished the flames raging in my mind. It was a man's voice, hoarse and cracking from exhaustion, like he'd been running for hours. Pulling myself up from the ground, I walked to the northernmost edge of the ring and peered through the tree branches.

He was stumbling along, using the trees for support as he slowly made his way through the wood. Occasionally, he would just stop altogether and lean against one of the trees to catch his breath. His breathing was rugged, his chest heaving, and his forehead glistened with sweat. At his side hung an empty sword sheath that swung around as he moved; a great warrior lost without his weapon. He was scared, trembling, and every few minutes he would readjust the clasps of his most prized cloak.

"Anariel," Beinion whispered through the darkness when he heard a startling sound. "Anariel, is that you?" He turned toward me then, his eyes struggling to see in the darkness, but he could not see past the thick tree branches that sheltered me. "Anariel, where are you? Please, come out."

He looked like a frightened child at that moment, like he wanted to run and hide under his mother's skirt and never come out again. It was funny to think this man had once frightened me. He was a scared fox running around with his tail between his legs, but he would survive this. Somehow I just knew he would. The worst ones always managed to survive.

The young lord heard another strange sound and took off running again, opting for a completely different direction than he was previous going. He turned north and fled, and his precious cloak flew behind him. I started to quietly laugh, taking a great deal pleasure in seeing him so flustered, and then I heard the same sound Beinion must have heard: a low growl.

It was right behind me, a grey wolf with yellow eyes like the sun. It stood on four massive paws that could crush a man's skull, and bared a full set of sharp teeth that could easily tear the flesh off my bones. But what frightened me the most were its eyes, watchful and full of knowledge. This was no ordinary wolf.

My old nursemaid used to tell me stories about wolves. They were terrible creatures, she always said, cunning, and full of tricks. She said wolves could sometimes take the form of men, like Ehgor the Grey, who once transformed into a handsome young man to seduce a young princess and steal her father's kingdom; or Bracian the Black, who, under the guise of a healer, went around slaughtering entire villages. I used to think those stories were all lies, but when I looked at the wolf's male companion, I could have sworn I was staring at Ehgor the Grey himself.

He had the brilliant yellow eyes of a wolf, sharp and ever-watchful. With just one glance, I felt like he'd already learned everything about me, every little secret I'd tried to keep hidden. He kept all his newfound secrets locked behind a beautiful face with skin as white as the moon, smooth and flawless, yet strong. His black hair fell to his shoulders and came alive when the wind touched it. He looked like no man I'd ever seen, and he moved with a fluid swiftness that no man could possess.

But when he came forward, I saw the quiver at his back. A red fletching marked every arrow.


	16. The Hunter

**Hey, guys****! ****Be sure to check out my profile for some character images and other fun stuff. Thanks for sticking with this story, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. **

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><p><span>Chapter 16: The Hunter<span>

The moon was at its highest point in the sky, shining its light directly into the small ring of trees that held me captive, trapping me with him. By now, I'd slunk back to the western edge, and with every silent minute that passed, I pushed further, but I would never break through and free myself. I knew it would be unwise to do that. The grey wolf was watching with its yellow eyes, eyes that glowed even brighter in the moonlight, but it would not attack without the elf's command.

The two of them seemed to share a silent language. Like one mind inhabiting two bodies, they were connected somehow. What the wolf's eyes saw the elf also saw, and what the wolf's ears heard the elf also heard. Sometimes they even seemed to breathe together.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, finding his silence eerily unsettling. He had asked questions and found the answers all with his eyes. I never said a word, and yet he knew everything somehow.

"Just a hunter," he answered in a voice much deeper than I'd expected, and he spoke quietly, in tone just above a whisper. As Father always said, the quietest voices commanded the most attention. I never understood that phrase until now.

"You have been hunting us for a while," I said. "Since we crossed the High Pass."

His yellow eyes sparkled with hidden secrets. "Oh, much longer than that."

"How much longer?" I asked, taken aback by his answer.

"Since your wedding," he replied. "Such a lavish affair. Tell me, did you get the gift I sent you?"

I considered his words carefully and came to a startling conclusion. "It was you. You sent the orcs. You ordered the attack."

"So you did get it," he said, flashing a perfect smile. "I knew you would love it, Anariel, I just knew you would. No need to thank me, though. You wanted an adventure, and I gave it to you. You wanted to experience the Fellowship of the Ring for yourself, and I let you. I brought real fear to you, an excitement you would have never known in your sad, miserable little village. I could have taken you weeks ago, Anariel, but I waited, for you I waited. Unfortunately, I cannot wait any longer. I have a job to finish."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "What do you want?"

"To collect what was bidden."

I grasped the amulet tightly. "You can't have the amulet. I won't let you."

His cryptic yellow eyes came alive. "You can keep the amulet, Anariel. I came for you."

"For me?" I repeated, stunned by his words. "But why?"

"I did not ask. What they want with you is no concern of mine. I am simply following orders."

"Whose orders?"

"You will see soon enough." Then, without even the slightest gesture from the elf, his wolf slowly emerged from its long-held position and took its place next to him. Together, their eyes followed my movements in perfect unison, and when the elf spoke to me again, his voice conveyed a much darker and sadistic tone. "Since we still have some time to spare, how about one last adventure?" He knelt next to his wolf and carefully stroked the top its head. "Feredir is an unrivaled hunter, and very fast. No man has yet been able to outrun him. Since the odds are against you, I shall give you an advantage. You have until the count of ten to get as far as you can before I release him. If you manage to escape him, I will grant you another day. If not, your adventure ends here. How does that sound?"

He didn't wait for my answer; instead, he rose to his feet and began to slowly count, "One, two, three ..."

By three, I had broken through the thick ring of trees and was on the move, braving the dark wood with all the strength I could muster, determined to survive. In between my heavy, gasping breaths, I could hear the elf counting loudly, "Five, six, seven, eight," and by the count of eight, my ankle became ensnared by a protruding vine. Screaming, I tumbled down a perilous hill filled with sharp rocks and thorny bushes. About halfway down, my cloak was ripped clean from my body, stolen by one of the bushes. My legs flew over my head as I fell, and thorns tore holes in my dress and my skin, cutting up my arms and legs. I hit the bottom hard, my head smashed against one of the rocks, and when I reached for it, I felt warm blood on my temple.

Groaning, I lifted myself and tried to stand, but my vision was blurry and my head was spinning. The trees around me had uprooted themselves and were moving at dizzying speeds, twisting in and out of my distorted vision. The hill came alive and billowed like the sea, and waves of grass crashed against the rocks. Atop the waves stood the grey wolf, Feredir, and while everything else moved, he stood perfectly still, staring down at me with his yellow eyes. He was the one thing I could see clearly, and I knew to fear him.

At the first twitch of my legs, he came bounding down the hill at great speed, and I spun around and tried my best to outrun him. All around me the trees were bending in and out of my path. Their branches came alive like snakes, hissing right in my face and obscuring my vision. I managed to dodge two trees and had just turned right when Feredir appeared beside me, ripping across the tree trunks, using them like stairs. He growled and jumped for me, teeth bared, but caught nothing. At the last moment, I came to an abrupt stop, and he crashed head-first into the trees on the opposite side, snapping the trunks right in half. After shaking off the splintered branches, he jumped to his feet and resumed his chase, nipping right at my heels.

At some point, he caught hold of my boot and nearly brought me down, but the boot came off before that could happen, forcing me to go the rest of the way with only one shoe. The second boot came off while I was ascending one of the trees. In an attempt to escape, I'd leapt for one of the high branches, and just as I was pulling myself up, Feredir sprung up and chomped at the heel. The boot slipped off in seconds and fell with the snarling wolf. From high in the tree, I watched him spit out the boot and come at me again. Scaling the trunk with his giant paws, he jumped and smashed through the branch just below me. His jaws narrowly missed my toes. I climbed higher and higher until I could no longer feel his hot breath on my feet; and down below, the wolf circled the tree, searching for a weak spot. He would attempt several more attacks, never getting any higher than his previous attempts, but then he suddenly stopped, gave me a hard glare, and fled into the darkness.

He was gone, for now at least.

I clung tightly to the tree trunk, my legs curled into my chest, nails digging into the bark. I could feel little shards of bark penetrating the skin beneath the nail and separating the nail from the flesh, but I felt no pain. Blood dripped down my face, leaking from the gash in my temple, and it warmed my cheek in the cold night. The trees had stopped moving at least; they replanted themselves into the ground and steadied their squirming branches. Once again, the wood was silent.

And the fires continued to burn.

From this high, it looked like a sea of fire rising and falling over the forest. The treetops burned bright like hundreds of torches lit in honor of the divine beings above, and the Father of All. Where were they now? I wondered. Could they see what was happening? Did they even care? The peasants often talked about Him, and they said many prayers to Him and his angels, hoping for a bountiful harvest. But when their crops died and the fields dried up, they cursed them all. They said He had abandoned us, His children.

I knew little about gods or angels. Father and Mother prayed to no gods, and they believed in none. Many said there was only one god, the Great King, and it was his will we were to follow. I honestly couldn't say who was right: the peasants in their fields or the nobles in their castles. All I knew was that we needed help now, and if there was something out there, a divine power greater than all else, I hoped it could hear our prayers. There would be many coming in this time of need.

"Please," I whispered. "Please, help us."

High above me, the sky became filled with thick grey clouds, and from the clouds poured forth a heavy, cold rain that showered over the burning wood. The angry fires battled against the rain, raising a shield of black smoke in defense, but the rain penetrated their shields; it poked thousands of holes straight through it. The fires struggled for a while but eventually succumbed to the assault, leaving a light mist of smoke that lingered among the burnt trees.

The water fell like ice, but it felt warm when it hit my skin, and it washed away all the dirt and the blood. It felt like a cleansing almost, of my body and my spirit, and I was at peace. From the safety of my tree, I watched the rain put out the rest of the smaller fires, and then the rain stopped, and the clouds parted, disappearing as swiftly as they came. On the branches hung tiny droplets of water, glistening in the moonlight like diamonds. I reached for them, wanting to savor their warmth, and they dripped onto my fingertips and rolled down the length of my fingers.

I smiled. "Thank you."

I remained in the tree for a long time, too frightened to move. On the forest floor, my boot waited for me, the inside filled to the brim with water. Every time a droplet fell from the branches, it disturbed the water's surface and more spilled out. I watched the drops fall for a while—twenty times at least—and then I saw movement on the ground. One of the small bushes was shaking with life, a bush much too small to be hiding the wolf. He came out quickly, crawling on all fours like he always did, and his broken wing flapped behind him.

Half-wing. I should have known to expect him when things took a turn for the worst. He was a walking omen for trouble.

He dipped his clawed hands into my overflowed boot and scooped the water into his mouth, drinking it in. While it provided soothing relief for me, Half-wing seemed absolutely repulsed by the shimmering liquid. Using both his hands, he pushed the boot over, and all the water spilled onto the ground. He was snickering the entire time, that mischievous little monster.

He began his climb up the tree soon after, making quick work of it. His claws left little nicks in the trunk as he climbed hand over hand, foot over foot, up and up, using the tree bark as some sort of ladder. When he reached the branch just above me, he dug his claws into the bark and dangled upside down, watching me with his large eyes, which were now an innocent black color instead of that hostile yellow I'd grown so accustomed to. He looked so different tonight, much like he did when I'd first spotted him in the cave. I once thought he had bat-like features, evil and grotesque, but looking at him now, he had an almost human face, one full of emotion, soft yet sad. He had experienced a great deal of pain in his life, I sensed, wounds worse than the one that had left him disfigured. He seemed like a tortured soul to me; but when I reached for him, he recoiled, dropped down from the branch, and crawled back into the shadows from whence he came.

I cast my eyes back to the charred forest beyond and wished for the elves' sight. If given their sharp eyes, I might have spotted the rest of my fellowship in the wood. Still, even without their vision, I knew they were out there somewhere, and I knew they were safe. The same could not be said for Turin. I couldn't find him even with an elf's blessed vision. He was in a place I could not see. He went where I could not follow.

I heard voices below, voices I hadn't heard in a long time and missed dearly. They were speaking in Elvish, the three of them, but occasionally Elrohir would break into the Common Tongue. I heard him mention an orc he'd killed. "Chopped his head clean off with one swing of my axe," he said. He later reported a final death count of nearly fifty orcs. His twin had apparently bested that score with a total of sixty-five kills, much to the elf's dismay. It was nice to see nothing had changed. The elf twins were still as competitive as ever.

"Her boot," Elrohir suddenly called, his voice full of hope. "She may yet be alive."

"There are teeth marks in the leather," Elladan said. "A wolf maybe, or worse." Then he muttered something in Elvish, something I could barely hear.

"Save your prayers for the dead, brother."

"I pray only for her safety. The wood is a dangerous place for a girl. It would be a miracle if she survived the night."

I heard Legolas's voice finally. "There is no need for a miracle. She is alive."

They emerged from the trees then, Legolas first and the twins soon after; Elrohir brought up the rear, still holding my boot in hands. When Legolas spotted my other boot at the base of the tree, he rushed over and picked it up from the ground. Tracing over with leather with his fingers, he gradually raised his eyes to meet mine. A look of relief washed over his face, and then he smiled.

"A size too big, I think," he said, holding up my boot. The twins shared a confused glance, but Legolas paid them no mind. He waited for me at the bottom, and when I came down, he put his arms around me and gently pulled me to his chest. His clothes were spotted with black orc blood, I observed, and there was a tear just below his right shoulder, a rip red with his blood. I pulled back and gazed at his face. A long cut stretched from his cheekbone to his chin; tiny beads of blood dripped down his cheek and painted his jerkin red.

"You're hurt," I said, gently touching my fingertips to his bleeding face. It was a bold move on my part, and even he seemed surprised by my actions, but then his wide eyes softened, and he covered my hand with his, holding it to his cheek.

"No," he said. "I am fine."

Elrohir stepped into view then, shaking my boot to get my attention. "We're fine too, in case you were wondering."

Legolas released me, and I stepped back and smiled at the other two elves. "I'm glad you are all safe."

Yes, they were safe, but they hadn't escaped unharmed. Elrohir bore several small nicks on his face, and his entire left arm was covered with blood from a cut that dragged all the way from his elbow to his bicep. According to Elrohir, there was a major breach in the etiquette of combat. Like a coward, the orc had attacked him from behind while he was facing another opponent. Oh, but the elf struck back twice as hard and then took his sword as his own. The blade he took, unfortunately, was dull and full of scratches, so Elrohir carried the blade around for only a little while before discarding it in the forest. The elf told the entire story with a smile on his face, and he didn't even seem to notice the wound on his arm. He did, however, notice all the black blood that had splattered his dark blue jerkin, and we all noticed the smell.

Elladan was by far the least hurt of the fellowship. His face had a few minor scratches, but the wounds came from the wood instead of the battle. They had fought through several thickets, he told me, and the thorns cut like daggers. "He is a very careful fighter, with a mind for strategy and tactics," Elrohir said. "And he chooses his opponents wisely."

"That I do, brother," Elladan said, clamping his hand onto his brother's shoulder. "And if you would have listened to me, you would have come out of the battle much cleaner."

Elrohir pulled a face. "What fun is that? I'll wear this blood like armor."

"Yes, and perhaps the smell will shield us from other orcs."

Their playful banter made me laugh, but there was no ignoring the vacant space in the fellowship. Had Turin been present, he would have boasted over his many kills and bickered with Elrohir over what it meant to be a true warrior. He would have proudly displayed his blood-soaked blade and retold the stories of his glorious battles even when nobody cared to hear. But he wasn't there, and nothing could fill the space he left.

"He really is gone," I muttered, but the elves still heard me, and there was a solemn silence.

"We searched for him," Elrohir said, "but we could not find him."

My legs gave out, and I fell to the ground. The elves made no attempt to move me, and they made no attempt to speak. They all just stood there with their eyes to the ground, and then Elladan murmured a quiet prayer in Elvish. In my heart, I felt overwhelming grief, but I had no more tears left for him. I prayed he had found peace, wherever he was.

"We should take what rest we can," Legolas soon said.

"Would that be wise?" Elladan asked.

"It has been a long day," he replied. "We all need our rest."

I knew he was looking right at me. They all were.

We set up camp in the forest. Elrohir said it would be unwise to start a fire, for the smoke and flame would give away our position, but Legolas insisted on it. The golden-haired elf had covered me with his cloak, but still I sat freezing on the ground, so Elrohir relented and started a small fire to keep me warm, and then he hoisted himself onto one of the tall trees to take first watch. Elladan knelt beside me and examined my wounds.

"At least the cut is not too deep," he told me as he addressed the gash on my temple. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head. "It stings a little, but I'll manage."

"A sharper rock would have killed you, but this one was blunted, I suspect. You are one lucky girl."

Normally, a comment like that would bring a smile to my somber face, but not tonight. Tonight, nothing could make my lips smile. I feared I might never smile again.

Elladan placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He may still be out there, and if he is, we will find him. The boy is a fighter, you know that better than I. Do not lose hope, Anariel."

Out from his pocket he pulled a crystal flask; he brought it to my lips and told me to drink. I sipped the clear liquid; it was sweet and fragrant and felt warm running down my throat.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Miruvor," he answered with a smile, "one of the elves' best kept secrets." He placed the flask into his pouch. "You should rest. We leave at first light ... assuming there is still light."

Elladan then joined his brother in the tree, and they began to quietly talk in Elvish. Meanwhile, Legolas was by himself again, standing by the fire and gazing at the wood with a deep, melancholic stare. He too was suffering from a great loss, I remembered, the loss of his home.

When he caught me staring, Legolas covered his sadness with a smile and sat down beside me. "You should rest," he said. "You will need your strength for the road ahead. Orcs are not the only creatures hunting us."

I wiggled my toes from within my boot and thought of the elf and his wolf. I knew I had to tell him about the elf—there was much he didn't know—but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I feared it would complicate things further ... and Elrohir would be too eager to seek revenge. I didn't want to lose anyone else if I could prevent it.

"I'm sorry," I eventually said to him.

"For what?"

"They destroyed your home."

He threw his eyes toward the fire and watched the red-orange flames with a burning intensity, like he was reliving it all in his head. He saw the trees burn, trees he had climbed in his youth, and his face writhed with pain as if he was the one burning.

"This is no longer my home," he said, forcing his gaze to the ground.

My heart sank. "No, but it still holds a special place in your heart."

He looked up at me then, and his eyes glittered with precious memories. "Yes, it does."

Without thinking, I withdrew my hand from the cloak and placed it on top of his. It was meant to bring comfort, I suppose, but whether for him or for me, I wasn't entirely sure. All I knew was that I enjoyed the warmth of his skin when he closed his hand around mine. I leaned my head back against the tree trunk and closed my eyes.

"Sleep," he said. "Let your mind find peace, even if it is just for a moment."

My dreams brought me back to Erudin, back to the village I missed so much, with its rolling green hills and sparkling streams. I missed the pasture where Turin and I would chase the cattle and try to ride them like horses. I missed the vast cornfields where we would hide and play games from dawn until dusk. I missed the village square where Turin would try to catch the chickens and always fail. I missed home dearly, but the Erudin in my dreams was not the Erudin I loved. This place belonged in my nightmares. The grass was dead, and the streams had gone dry. The pastures were empty, and the fields were grey and barren. The village was deserted, even by the chickens, and a lone green banner drifted down from the sky ... the white stag of Erudin fell.

I saw Mother outside the crypts, dressed in the color of mourning. Clutching her heart, she fell to her knees and murmured a name that was lost in the wind.

_"Ana!"_ Turin called to me. The eight-year-old boy was waiting on a dirt path. Grinning, he motioned for me to follow, and then he took off running without a care in the world. I followed my dear friend, and he brought me into the wood where we once played. Laughing, he ran and slashed through bush after bush with his great wooden sword. But they weren't bushes. They were real orcs wielding real iron swords, but only I could see them. The little eight-year-old boy went on playing his game, oblivious to the danger. He blocked their strikes with his wooden sword, blow after blow, and he giggled and cheered himself on. _"I am Turin the Great,"_ he declared and raised his sword to strike.

A loud crack echoed in the silent wood, and a broken sword hit the ground.

When I woke, the campfire had burned out, and a faint light was beginning to break through the treetops. Morning had come, and the fellowship was preparing to set out once again, fewer than we were the day before. Before leaving camp, we all gathered at the tall tree and had a moment of silence for our lost comrade. Elrohir took one of his daggers and drove it straight into the ground.

"May he join his fathers in the Halls of Waiting," Elrohir whispered as he knelt before the dagger. Legolas and Elladan said their own prayers in Elvish.

"He wanted to be a great warrior," I said. "He wanted to be a knight."

"He was a great warrior," Elrohir replied upon standing, and as he passed by me, he said, "and he would have been an amazing knight."

We pressed on then, and today even the elves walked with heavy feet. As we passed through the charred black forest, Legolas hardened his heart to the brutal destruction of his dear home. He paid no mind to the fallen timber that blocked our path or the burnt leaves that crunched beneath our feet. He ignored it all and walked on; but the twins lingered behind to talk to me.

"Have you seen the young lordling?" Elrohir asked with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Lordling? You mean Beinion?" I thought back to last night and how he'd seemed so frightened. "No, I have not."

"When Legolas arrived at camp and discovered you were missing, he suspected the young lord had something to do with it, so he grabbed the fool right by the collar of his tunic and slammed him against the tree so hard, I thought it would shatter. You should have seen the size of the lord's eyes—the size of moons, they were! And Legolas said, with venom in his voice, 'If I hear you laid so much as a finger on her, I will rip your tongue right out of your mouth and feed it to the crows.'"

Elladan shook his head. "He did not say that."

Elrohir shrugged. "Well, he should have. I would have. He did threaten him, though. And when he released him, he drew his bow and said to the lord, 'Start running.' And when boy was a fair distance away, he nocked his arrow ... took aim ... and ...!"

A black arrow whizzed through the trees and pierced Elrohir's left shoulder from behind, knocking him to the ground. Elladan shouted his brother's name, alerting Legolas to the danger. The elf quickly drew his bow and surveyed the area, while Elladan tended to his brother, who still lay on his stomach.

"Do not move," Elladan said to him, but Elrohir ignored his brother and sat up anyway. Over and over, his brother tried to get him to lie back down, but the elf would not listen; and when he was told not to remove the arrow himself, the stubborn elf did it anyway. He pulled the full length of the arrow out himself, and he didn't even flinch.

"That elf bastard!" Elrohir growled as he forced himself up and drew his sword from its sheath. "Where is he? Where is he? Show your face, you coward!"

"The trained elf eye can see for miles," said a voice from above. Legolas took aim at a tall, scorched tree just west of us. The elf, dressed all in black, was sitting high in the tree, lazily playing with the red fletching of one of his black arrows. He gave the feather a gentle flick and then set his eyes upon Elrohir. "Yet here I sit, and you did not see me. Perhaps the little elfling needs more training."

Elrohir gripped his sword tighter. "I am no elfling."

The elf tossed the arrow back into his quiver and then jumped down from the tree, landing without a sound. "Put down your blade. We both remember what happened the last time you tried to fight me."

"I will not make the same mistake," the elf declared as he prepared to charge, but Elladan stopped him with a firm hand.

"No, you will not make the same mistake," his older brother asserted, his grip tight on his brother's shoulder. "You know better than to rush so blindly into battle. Have you learned nothing?"

Elrohir roughly pushed his brother away, but he did reluctantly lower his weapon. Legolas's bow, however, remained perfectly steady, and his eyes never left the mysterious elf. "Who are you?" he asked. "And what do you want?"

"My name is irrelevant," the elf answered. "Only the mission matters."

"And what is your mission?"

The elf's yellow eyes passed over to me. "Your adventure is over, Anariel."

Elladan stepped in front of me, acting as my shield in case the elf tried to attack. "You will not touch her."

The elf smirked. "You cannot stop me."

Legolas fired an arrow that sliced right across the elf's snowy skin, creating a thin red line that dripped blood down his right cheek. The elf didn't even blink.

"You will regret that," he said, his yellow eyes narrowing at the golden-haired elf. As the elf spoke those words, Feredir slowly emerged from the trees, and with him he brought an army of at least fifty orcs, all heavily armed and ready for battle. They surrounded us on all sides and waited for the elf's signal to attack.

"Surrender the girl or fall here," the elf said. "The choice is yours."

Elrohir had his sword ready once more. "Do you take us for fools? Of course we won't surrender!"

"Have it your way then."

Everything happened so slowly, it seemed. The elf gave the signal to attack with a subtle wave of his hand. An orc came charging at Elladan, and the elf cut him down with his sword. Legolas fired a single arrow the pierced the exposed neck of one of the orcs. Feredir was preparing to attack Elrohir, who was lost in another battle. And all the while, the pale elf had his deadly bow in his hand and Legolas in his sights. His fingers inched toward an arrow.

"Stop!" I shouted, bringing everything to a halt. Three orcs fell dead, two from a blade and one from an arrow. Feredir reluctantly held his position next to the elf, whose hand had risen into the air, bringing a stop to the impending violence.

"If I go with you," I said, "will you promise to spare them?"

My elf companions whispered words of disbelief, and Elrohir asked if I was crazy, but I paid attention only to the yellow-eyed elf. He looked right at me and promised, "No harm will come to them. You have my word."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said with confidence, "Then I will go with you."


	17. Orcs and Elves

**Hey, guys! I know this is a pretty short chapter, but I felt it was right to end it where I did because...well...you'll see. I really hope you guys are enjoying this story so far because I'm having a lot of fun writing it. It's arguably the most fun I've ever had writing a story. Anyway, enough talk. I hope you all enjoy this short but interesting chapter. **

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><p><span>Chapter 17: Orcs and Elves<span>**  
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In Amon Hen, Frodo Baggins decided to break away from the Fellowship and face the rest of his journey alone. When Father spoke of Frodo's decision, I became so angry that I jumped right out of my bed, and I would have cracked my head open on the stone floor if Father hadn't caught me. As he tucked me in again, I said to him, "Why would he do something so foolish? He's just a hobbit. He cannot do this alone." Father laughed and said, "Yes, he chose a hard path, but he felt it was the right path. You see, Anariel, he knew the One Ring would eventually destroy the Fellowship, just as it had done to Boromir, and he did not wish any more harm to come to those he cared for. Tell me, now do you think him a fool?" Yes, for many years on I thought Frodo Baggins was a fool for leaving the Fellowship, and yet here I was, making a similar decision. Long after this day, if my story was ever told, I hoped I wouldn't be thought of as a fool. Like Frodo, I felt I was making the right choice.

The elf was kind enough to grant me a few moments to say goodbye. I went to Elrohir first because I knew he would most easily accept my decision. When I came to him, he tousled my hair with his fingers and gave me some rather unnecessary advice.

"The orc armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arms," he said. "They will underestimate you because you are a woman. Use this to your advantage."

"I'm not going into battle," I told him.

"Life is a battle," he replied. "Always be prepared. Never let your guard down, not even for a moment." Then he pulled me into a warm embrace and whispered into my ear, "Just promise to leave the elf for me. We have a score to settle, he and I." And when we parted, he looked right at the elf and said, "I'll be seeing you again."

The elf smirked. "For your sake, I hope not."

While Elrohir killed his elf enemy in his fantasies, I moved on to Elladan, who was far less lighthearted than his younger brother. I could see the distress in his eyes, and it hurt to know I was the source of his pain.

"You have chosen a dangerous path," he said to me, and then his gaze passed over to the yellow-eyed elf. His grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I do not know this elf, nor do I trust him. It is unnatural for an elf to bear that eye color, Anariel. Those are wolves' eyes, and he has tampered with a very dark power to be given such sight." Then he let out a heavy sigh and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I wish you would reconsider, but I will respect your decision. Take care, Anariel, and stay on your guard. We will not be far behind, I promise you that."

Even as we were all bunched together, Legolas had still managed to separate himself from everyone else. He had a real talent for that. Elladan and Elrohir were always close together; neither ventured far without the other. Oh, but not Legolas; he preferred solitude, it seemed. Even when he was standing right next to me, there was always a distant look in his eyes, like he was miles away, in a different time and place even. He wore that same look even as I approached him now. The different hues of blue, some light and some dark, mixed around in his wandering eyes as the memories came and went; but when he looked at me, it all settled, and he was present once more.

"You do not have to do this," he said to me. "There are other ways."

I shook my head. "This is the only way. I have already lost Turin; I couldn't bear to lose you as well, not when I could save you."

In my mind, those words were meant for the entire fellowship, for all their lives were dear to me; but in my heart, those words were reserved for Legolas alone, my childhood hero. His adventure couldn't end here; I wouldn't let it.

I undid his cloak and shrugged the weight of it off my shoulders, but when I tried to return it to the elf, he would not accept it. Instead, he took the cloak and draped it around me. "This will better serve you," he said as he fastened the clasp. His fingers lingered above the silver leaf for a while, as if they were unsure of where to go; then his left hand traveled up to my face, and with his thumb he gently traced over the scabbed cut that marked my cheek. His touch was light, careful, as if he thought he would cut me again if he pressed too hard. His eyes stared deeply into mine, conveying an emotion I would consider only in my dreams and never dare speak of. Slowly, his face drew close, too close. My cheeks flushed with sudden anxiety, and I feared he might try to kiss me, so I abruptly pulled away. I was too uncertain of my feelings to accept his kiss, and this was not the time or the place for such things.

He ceased his approach—his eyes showed the regret of his bold actions—and he pulled back. "Be careful," he murmured. He couldn't even look at me.

"I will," I promised. "Take care."

I stepped back and gave the fellowship one last look. These elves had become my protectors, my council, and my dearest friends. Elrohir's lighthearted humor and brash antics provided a much-needed escape from the woes of our journey. Elladan had many words of wisdom to share, even when we did not care to hear, and he had a healing touch that brought strength to us all. As for Legolas, ... I still hadn't quite figured him out. I'd spent much of this journey just trying to understand him and the world he guarded so closely, and I would leave now feeling as though I'd accomplished nothing. Worse yet, I would leave without understanding my conflicted feelings for him.

"I bid you all farewell," I said to them. The words felt strange on my lips. "I will pray for your safety every day."

As we departed the Wood of Greenleaves, the yellow-eyed elf said to me, "It is kind of you to pray for your friends, but save a prayer for yourself. You will need it."

I glanced over my shoulder, stealing one last glimpse of the elves I'd left behind. The fellowship was no more than a cherished memory now, and I had no choice but to carry on with this new company of orcs, led by a mysterious elf who bore the forbidden eyes of a wolf. He called himself my escort and said I was nothing more than an honored charge placed under his protection. A charge, was I? Then why was I stripped of all my belongings? Why were my hands bound? And why was I being so closely watched by the wolf? When I dared to shoot Feredir a sideways glance, the wolf snarled and bared his teeth at me. He had a fury in his eyes that sent chills up my spine.

No, I was certainly no honored charge.

The orcs marched with heavy feet, and their armor was clinging and clanging with every step they took. Most wore borrowed armor, I observed, though perhaps _stolen_ was the better word. It was old, rusted, and full of cracks and dents. The smaller orcs had to manage with armor two sizes too big and helms that blocked their sight, so it was a small wonder why many chose to go without any armor at all. Some had fashioned their own armor from leather, and it reeked of blood, sweat, and dirt. I was forced to walk behind them, so when the wind caught their scent, it was delivered right to me. It took all my strength to keep from vomiting.

And they fought, often and ferociously, over the silliest of things. Early on, two of the small orcs broke into a fight because one had stepped on the other's foot. There was a lot of shoving, a lot of shouting, and when their fighting disturbed one of the large orcs, he took his sword and opened the throat of the nearest offender—his blood sprayed like a heavy black rain—then he hacked off the other's head for good measure. Both bodies were carelessly tossed aside, deemed too foul even for orcs to eat, but the severed head was thrown on a spear and carried around for many miles, serving as a warning for the lesser orcs in the company. Still, another fight would quickly erupt ... and another ... and another. Most of the small orcs would be dead long before we reached our destination.

The elf paid little attention to the orcs and their feuds. When one brawl started, he would turn away with a look of mild annoyance, but he never tried to intervene. Only when their fighting greatly slowed our pace did he act, and even then he did not get directly involved. Instead, he sent Feredir to keep order. After two orcs began quarreling over a spoiled bird carcass, the wolf took one orc's hand and savagely tore open the other's throat; then the two were deserted, left to bleed to death. As we passed them, I saw the one-handed orc begin to eat the other, who was barely alive but still squirming. For just a moment, his gaze met mine. His eyes burned with a savage hunger I'd never seen before. Out of discomfort, I forced myself to look away, but the memory of his eyes was unshakable.

We spent much of the day and part of the night marching. It was a tireless march with only one speed, the elf's speed, and I had a hard time keeping up. My legs still ached from the night before, and a much-needed sleep was fighting to take over. When my legs eventually gave out, the elf caught me by the nape of my neck and roughly pulled me to my feet again; but when I fell a second time, his swift retrieval was paired with a warning: "If you fall again, Feredir will be the one catching you." The glare in the wolf's eyes made the meaning all too clear.

But he was lenient with me. The orcs were not treated with such kindness. When they fell, and several did, the company walked on, and the fallen were viciously trampled. The ones in the front suffered the worst punishment. One of the smaller orcs, after stumbling around for miles, eventually succumbed to his fatigue, and by the time I reached his body, his head resembled a smashed winter squash and his corpse was full of bleeding holes from the orcs' sharp spears.

The moon's light was far less than half of what it normally was; it barely provided any light at all; but when we reached the Long Lake, twenty fewer than we began with, the burning Lake-town gave off a light almost as bright as the sun. This town upon the lake had been the victim of countless assaults, forcing its citizens to rise up from the ashes and rebuild time and time again. They were still recovering from the destruction of the Great Seige of 173, when the king's army sacked the town and then let the lake swallow it up. And now it was burning again, at the hands of orcs. The Long Lake, which had once been a busying place of trade, was now littered with the bodies of the dead: men, women, and children. Burning men threw themselves into the water one after another; I could hear their bloodcurdling screams from the dock.

Leaving the burning town, the silhouettes of three very large orcs led a band of roughly thirty smaller orcs across the wooden bridge that connected Lake-town to the land. The three in front were unlike other orcs, I observed as they neared the dock; they were bigger, stronger, and their eyes carried a certain awareness, a level of control that most orcs lacked. When I stared into the eyes of other orcs, they could seldom hold my gaze for long; their eyes were constantly flickering about; but these three orcs held my gaze for so long that it made me uncomfortable. They were an advanced breed of orc—they were uruk-hai. If I'd known these were the creatures from Father's warnings, I would have gladly eaten all the vegetables in the land to keep them away.

"I sent you to get boats," the elf said to the three, "not burn down the town."

The one on the left spoke first. He was slightly shorter and stockier than the other two, and he had a very fat nose with nostrils that flared every time he took a breath. "Never said we couldn't."

"They tried to resist," said the one on the right. He had a very disfigured face: the entire left side was severely burned and blistered, and his mouth was fixed in a permanent sneer. He carried a bow and quiver on his back.

"Next time I give an order," the elf said firmly, "follow it exactly." Then he turned toward the lake, where three boats waited, roped loosely to the dock. One looked like it was about to float away any moment. The elf gave a dissatisfied grunt. "Prepare to board."

The uruk in the middle spoke finally. Despite looking the most normal of the three, with an almost mannish face that carried few scars, he was the most terrifying of them all. He towered over everyone, and he had a threatening presence that made even the other uruks keep their distance. Out of all the orcs, he was the only one who seemed to have the elf's respect. When he spoke, the elf listened with his complete attention.

"The elves are close," the uruk said. "They run tirelessly through the day and the night."

"And so shall we," replied the elf.

"You said you would kill them. Why do they live?"

"I cannot kill my own kin. Besides, they are no threat us. They will follow, but they will not attack, not while we have her. They care too much for her."

With that, we boarded the boats. The elf threw me into the furthest boat before sitting down himself, and the remaining seats were filled by six medium-sized orcs, who took the oars. The other two boats were quickly filled, but when some of the lesser orcs attempted to board, they were roughly thrown out by the uruks. The boats, it seemed, were reserved for the elite members of the army, the strong rowers and navigators primarily.

"You walk," said the fat-nosed uruk to the rest of them. Whispering voices gave him the name Woggha. "Meet us at the Fork."

The orcs left on shore seemed unhappy to march again, but they set out, regardless, because the watchful Feredir was among them, sent by the elf to keep order. We departed shortly after. The orcs untied the boats from the dock, and soon the burning Lake-town became a black spot on the horizon.

For two days, the orcs rowed through the night and the day, keeping the steady rhythm set by the uruks, who each led a boat. To the left of me was Woggha's fleet, which bore two less than it set out with. Whenever one rower's pace began to lag, he was thrown into the river to drown. Then the second slowest was tossed to maintain balance. If they tried to climb back into the boat, Woggha would slash their throats himself; then he would call for an even faster speed.

To the right of me was Gaakt's quarrelsome fleet. They were an angry bunch who cursed each other as they rowed, but they managed to keep a steady pace for the most part. The two rowers at the end particularly didn't like being seated next to each other, and eventually one orc elbowed the other's face and knocked him into the water; then he calmly took both oars and continued rowing. The burned uruk saw the entire incident but said nothing.

The orcs who rowed behind me were indeed the quietest and least troublesome. They said not a word, not even a whisper, and steadily rowed at the uruk's command. They were afraid of him, I sensed, the uruk they called Garekk. He sat at the back of the boat, his grunts providing the rowers' rhythm, and he never spoke—he didn't need to. Once, just once, I glanced over my shoulder to look at him. His glare found me immediately, and I quickly turned away.

"He hates being stared at," the elf said to me. "They all do."

And so I kept my eyes forward, allowing them to look only at the water when they yearned for a change of scenery. Dark hues of blues and greens swirled together as the orcs stirred the river with their oars, yet down below there was no movement, no signs of life. The river was still. Where were the swimming fish and the leaping frogs? Where were the pesky little biters that would buzz about and nip at my flesh? They were gone, all of them.

I leaned over the edge of the boat and carefully examined the water's surface. Tiny ripples began to bubble, and a small blue fish rose to the top of the water, floating a dead float. From its ever-staring eyes dripped a strange black liquid that seeped into the river, polluting the water. A second fish rose soon after, then a third and quickly a fourth. Soon, the entire river was filled with dead fish.

"What is this?" I wondered as I reached my hand out to touch one of the floating fish. "Why are they dead?"

The elf's hand caught me in mid-reach. "Do not touch them."

I stared up at the elf and asked again, "Why are they dead?"

"The water is polluted," he answered, releasing my hand at last. "Valmoria's plague is starting._ Fish will rise from the water, birds will fall from the sky. And if she wakes, we all will suffer. All of us will die. _They used to sing songs to us children, warning us of her wrath. We would swim forever in her river of torment, they said, but we never listened. We thought it was just some story. I guess we were wrong." Then he turned away from me. "Keep your hands in the boat."

On the third night we at last reached the Fork, the place where the Redwater joined the River Running. The orcs pulled the boats ashore, and we set up camp along the riverbank. The rest of the orcs, who had run for miles without rest, arrived later in the night, their numbers less than half of what they'd started with, and those who remained looked well fed. The orcs would spend most of the night around the fire, fighting and feasting on whatever they could get their hands, even each other. I watched with revulsion as one was thrown right into the fire to crisp.

"Do they frighten you?" asked the elf, who was seated beside me. Feredir was lying next to him, curled up so sweetly that he almost looked innocent—almost.

"No," I said as I turned toward him. "They disgust me."

"And they should. Orcs are terrible, filthy creatures who destroy everything they touch. It is their nature. Why, they are beasts compared to wise and fair elves, who are inherently good and incapable of wickedness." His voice carried a mocking tone that I just couldn't ignore, and it made me angry. "But let me tell you something that may surprise you," he went on. "The first orcs were elves, their minds and bodies tortured and mutilated beyond recognition; and now they walk the earth without a purpose, hating themselves."

His words caught me off guard. "I don't believe you."

He shrugged. "Then don't. Continue living in your fantasy world. Perhaps an innocent girl like you is better off that way."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked rather forcefully. "I thought elves were incorruptible."

His yellow eyes shimmered with amusement. "Who says I am corrupt? Maybe I am just tired. I have lived for too long, seen too many horrible things, and I just want it all to end. But it will never end for me because I am an elf, cursed to spend the rest of my endless life with my painful memories. Whether we suffer in the hell of Middle-earth or the paradise of Aman, all elves will eventually feel the strain of a life too long lived. Truthfully, we all wish for a death we will never have. So if a plague is coming, Anariel, I gladly welcome it."

I considered his words carefully and came to a saddening conclusion:

"It's ironic," I said, fascinated by my realization. "Men spend their entire lives trying to run from death, yet you yearn to embrace it. We envy the fate that isn't ours and hate the one we are given, and so we are all doomed to suffer. How pitiful."

"Have I just shattered your perfect illusion of elves?" The elf stood to leave and then beckoned his wolf, who quickly went to his side. "Forget what I said then. Girls like you need your fantasies."

But I couldn't forget what he said, not a word of it. My mind was spinning with troubling thoughts, and I didn't know what to believe.

As I contemplated the nature of orcs and elves, the orcs were busy cooking up yet another feast. Skewered over their roasting fire were ten dead fish plucked right from the river, and ten more were already being devoured by the hungry orcs. A thick black liquid dripped from their lips.


	18. The Sickness

**Okay, I know this is a super short chapter, but I really like the tone it ended with, and I didn't want to ruin it. That being said, the next chapter will be much longer, I promise. **

**Also, you might've noticed that I changed the genre from an Adventure/Romance to an Adventure/Drama. I did that because this really isn't a fluffy romance story, and it won't become one. There are too many other things that are way more important than any romance, like Ana and Turin's friendship, for example, and the state of Middle-earth. But that doesn't mean there won't be romance - there will be.**

** Anyway, enjoy this chapter. **

**WARNING: Some of the scenes might be a tad gruesome, but I tried to tone it down, so it shouldn't be that bad, hopefully.**

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><p><span>Chapter 18: The Sickness<span>

The squatty brown orc stood knee-deep in the shallow river water, scooping up dead fish with his oversized helm. Three times he bent over and came back up, and he had so much fish, they were starting to spill over the sides. He caught one before it fell, threw it back on the top of the pile, and then lugged them all back to camp. The murky fish-water splashed the ground as he walked and sometimes wetted the faces of the snoring orcs he stepped over, but when one woke, he merely wiped his face with his forearm, turned over, and then went back to sleep. At that, the brown orc let out a quiet sigh of relief and brought the fish-filled helm to the roasting fire, where a grey orc with a hunched back was busy cooking up the previous catch.

"What do you s'pose killed 'em?" asked the hunchback.

"Disease, some said." The brown orc set down the helm and dirty brown water spilled onto the dirt. "Dirty water, maybe ... Others say it's the plague, the beginning of the end." He took a cooked fish for himself and bit a piece of the head off. "All I know is I'm starvin', and food is food."

Not far from them sat a group of small orcs, fifteen at least, feasting on a banquet of fish. Their sharp, mangled teeth tore through the scaled flesh and black water seeped from the open wounds, dripping into their mouths, coating their hands, and trickling to the ground. Together, they finished off dozens, piling the bones in the center, and each time a bone fell onto the pile, I scooted a little further away from them, inch by inch, until I could move no further. A tree blocked my path, and I had not thought to move around it, not as I watched them.

"The fish are spoiled and rotten," said the hunchback, but still he ate another fish; both orcs did, took them right from the flame and put them in their mouths, still hot and sizzling. I could see the steam wafting from their lips.

I searched the camp for the elf. He'd left nearly an hour ago, went off toward the trees with his wolf and never came back. The uruks were gone too; they'd set up their own camp away from the lesser orcs and their fighting. At first, I was pleased to see them leave, but now I felt unsafe in their absence. The elf had warned me about the fish, told me not to touch them, said they were part of Valmoria's plague. I did not trust the elf, but I believed his words. Those fish were poison, and they should have stayed in the river.

When he ran out of fish, one of the seated orcs approached the fire. He had his eye on the fat grey one, I figured, as did the other two. All three of them were staring at it, waiting for the perfect time to snatch it before it was gone. The newcomer's eyes passed back and forth between the orcs and the fish, but he made no move. The brown orc's hand twitched forward, but then it fell back down. The hunchback licked his lips, but he held back. They all watched; they all waited; and then they all reached at once, but it was the hunchback who caught the fish, and once he had it, he took off running.

He did not make it far before the angry brown orc tackled him to the ground, and there the two wrestled and fought over the fish. The brown orc grabbed the head, the hunchback grabbed the tail, and they tore the fish in half, splattering themselves with black. The fish's spine was exposed and dangling from the brown orc's half, its end sharp from where it had broken. Gripping the fish head tightly, the brown orc plunged the sharp spine into the hunchback's exposed neck. Fighting back, the dying orc growled and groaned, but quickly his sounds were reduced to quiet gurgles as he choked on his own blood; frothy black spittle foamed from his lips, and he fell silent.

The brown orc pulled out the length of the spine and brought the fish back to his lips, tearing off the meat and eating it. In between the hungry chewing and smacking of his lips, I heard a muffled cough that got louder. The third orc was doubled over and coughing so hard that his body shook. His hand was over his mouth, trying to keep something in, but it came out anyway, leaking right through his fingers. Black water, thicker than blood, and stickier too. It soaked into his brown leather armor and drizzled onto his boots, and when he removed his hand from his mouth, it poured out faster than the wine from a thirsty lord's skin. He fell to his knees then, slipping on the slick black waste, and he started hitting himself for no reason at all. He beat his head with a heavy fist, and he pounded the grass, and clawed at the dirt. He'd gone mad to my eyes, lost in a drunken frenzy much like the ones I'd seen at feasts, when the drunk men would fight anyone who dared look at them. But this was different still. Somehow, I knew this wouldn't be something we would laugh about in the morning.

One of the large orcs stirred in his sleep, and he woke to find the mad orc next to him, still making the loud noises than had interrupted his slumber. He muttered something I couldn't hear and reached for his iron axe. The mad orc shifted, sensing the orc's movements, and then he attacked before the orc could find his weapon. It all happened so swiftly, and it was so terrifying. Suddenly, the mad orc was on top of him, his hands gripping his head, and he started beating his head against the ground, as if trying to crack open his skull. Blood was everywhere. And they were screaming, the both of them, deep and animalistic screams, one of pain and one of madness, joining together to make this horrifying sound that made me cover my ears. It woke the sleeping orcs, and all they could do was watch, speechless, probably as horrified as I was.

The orc squirmed and screamed as death fell upon him, and then he was still. Panting and grunting, his throat raw from screaming, the mad orc released his head and it smacked against the ground; black blood oozed out of his smashed skull and joined the pool around him. Every muscle in the mad orc's body seemed unstable, constantly moving, as if he had no control of himself at all. His fingers trembled as they felt around the dead orc's face, searching for something they would never find, and his ears twitched at every minute sound. I stayed in the shadow of the tree, keeping as silent as I could to avoid unwanted attention. The once-sleeping orcs were quiet too, and as still as the dead one, like they thought it would protect them. Many froze in a sitting position, others were halfway on their feet and just inches from their weapons, and some simply stayed on the ground. Those few were either the wisest or the most foolish. Only time would tell.

And then the silence was interrupted by more coughing, deep coughing. The orcs who'd eaten the poisoned fish, all sixteen of them, were coughing, convulsing, and spitting up black, and nobody was in more trouble than the orcs nearest them. The ones sitting rose to stand; the ones standing grabbed their weapons; but the ones lying on the ground were the worst off; they barely had time to move before it happened. I kept my hands clamped over my ears, but my eyes stayed open, watching the slaughter unfold.

The change happened to the brown orc first. He was still clutching the fish in his hand when he sprung from the ground, and he used the dagger-like spine to stab holes in his victims until it shattered in his clutch; then he used only his bare hands, but that was all he needed—that was all any of them needed. The change brought great strength to them, allowing them to take down the larger orcs with ease. They pulled off arms, ripped off legs, and tore bodies completely in half with little effort. And when they were struck, with axes, spears, or swords, they just kept on coming. One mad orc had lost both his arms and legs, and still he lived, wiggling on the floor like a worm. Only when a spear penetrated his skull did he finally die.

_Where is the elf? _I thought as I frantically searched around with my eyes, but they saw only death and blood, so much blood. The riverbank had turned into a black lake from all the blood, and in its waters lay the dead and dying. _I must escape_, I realized. They were occupied for now, but it wouldn't last long. Eventually, they would notice me, and then there would be no escape.

I put my bound hands on the ground and slowly staggered to my feet. The mad orcs were still killing. They hadn't seen me. But when I stepped back, a leaf crunched beneath my feet, the loudest crunch I'd ever heard ... and the brown orc saw me—he looked right at me—and then he came running.

He'd just about reached me when the uruk appeared, as tall as a giant and sturdier than the great walls that guarded Annúminas, fierce and impenetrable. When the mad orc came at him, the uruk caught him by the throat and ripped his head and spine clean off. It came out so easily, like he was deboning a fish. The body flopped to the ground, and he dropped the rest soon after.

The other two uruks appeared as well, Woggha with his blade and Gaakt with his bow, and together they destroyed several mad orcs. The elf and his wolf were the last to arrive; I saw their brilliant yellow eyes before anything else. He came armed with his bow and shot an arrow straight through the eye of an approaching orc; then he shot another as it crawled toward him on two stubby arms. They finished off the remaining orcs quickly, making it look easy, and all the while, Garekk stood in front of me, serving as my shield. I watched everything from a safe distance, cloaked by his shadow.

"Fools, all of them," the elf cursed just as one of the fallen rose. Calmly, the elf ripped an arrow from one of the dead and drove it through the orc's skull, bringing him back down. Then he came to me, his pale face masked with an uncharacteristic look of concern, and he roughly took my face in his hands, checking me over with a serious glare. "Did you get any on you? Any blood? Did it get in your mouth or in your eyes? Tell me now!" He'd asked all his questions at once, and I had trouble forming an answer. "_Did you get any on you?_"

"No!" I finally shouted back. "No! Nothing! Nothing touched me!"

He released me then and turned to the uruk, pulling him close by his metal breastplate. His yellow eyes passed over his face several times before he pushed him away. Then he stepped forward and announced loudly, "If you took in any blood, through your mouth, nose, or eyes—step forward. If you were bitten, cut, even scratched—step forward. _Do it now._"

The surviving seven orcs nervously eyed each other, but none of them stepped forward. Any one of them could have been infected—blood had been flying everywhere, and the seven had fought hard to keep their lives—but still no one moved. Then one of them gave a sudden cough, bringing all eyes to him. It might have been the first sign of the change, or maybe he just had a tickle in his throat, but that didn't matter. Woggha came with his sword and sliced off his head before he could explain himself, and the truth died with him. The six remaining orcs watched his severed head wobble back and forth, and the silence continued.

The wolf had a limp when he came to elf's side, leaving blood in his tracks. His left leg was spotted with red and black, as was his back and right side, but around his mouth there was only black. He started to cry when he got close, and the elf went to him at once, showing a level of compassion I never thought possible.

"Easy, boy," he murmured as he gently laid the wolf onto his side. He stroked the top of his head as he muttered soothing words in Elvish, and the wolf's cries began to lessen. Then, with his free hand, he reached for the dagger on his belt. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still hear the sounds. There was a quiet whimper, followed by a deep growl, a sudden yelp, and then silence. When I opened my eyes again, the elf was carrying the limp wolf in his blood-stained arms and walking toward the forest. He stopped only once, just before he disappeared into the wood, and when he looked back at me, I saw the yellow in his eyes become smothered by a smoky grey haze.

He was gone for a long time, longer than I'd anticipated. The remaining orcs spent most of his absence cleaning up the dead. The uruks had told them to burn all the bodies, infected or not; and so, one by one, they picked up the bodies, along with any dismembered appendages, and tossed them all into the fire. The resulting smoke carried a smell of burnt flesh that made my stomach churn.

Gaakt didn't seem to like fire—small wonder why. He spent his time walking up and down the shoreline, and when he returned, the burned uruk delivered some most troublesome news: "The boats are gone. Some of the orcs took 'em and fled."

"No matter," the elf answered as he emerged from the wood, clean of all blood and emotion. "We will continue on foot." Then he looked to the rest of the orcs with his smoke-like eyes. "The rest of you are free to join them if you wish. We will likely face several more perils on our journey, ones worse than this. I will not ask you to go any further than you will."

Again, the orcs looked at each other, waiting to see who would leave first. Finally, a medium-sized orc slung his bloody axe over his shoulder and turned to leave. After him, two more followed suit. The three made it a fair distance before I heard the twang of Gaakt's bowstring—one, two, three times—and I knew he had not missed his marks. When he lowered his bow, the uruk looked right at me and said with a shrug, "He said they could leave ... never said they could live."


	19. Rhûn

**I know, this took a long time, but I decided to take a break and work on one of my other stories for a bit. Sorry about that. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><span>Chapter 19: Rhûn<span>

The land of Rhûn was a mysterious place that few had seen, yet every man in Erudin seemed to be an expert on its history and lore. They all had stories to share, each more extraordinary than the last, and they were all true—they swore by their lives the truth of it—yet the sources were always unnamed. _Lost to the ages_, many claimed. One farmer said the land once carried the richest soil in Middle-earth, where cornfields stood as tall as mountains and potatoes as big as men wiggled themselves out of the ground like worms. His story was later declared untrue by the butcher, who said wild beasts used to roam the land, like giant birds of prey that would snatch up villagers and carry them off to their mountain nests to feed their hungry chicks; and the mountain-walkers, bizarre creatures bearing the face of a pig and the body of a bear, would climb up to the birds' nests and steal the eggs for their feasts ... according to the butcher's tale.

Still, my nursemaid denied both stories and instead told me the tale of the lonely giant who lived upon the mountain. Middle-earth, she said, was once home to many giants: _"_Good giants, bad giants, happy giants, and sad giants; giants who had six toes, and giants who had no nose. But of all the giants among the rock and the stone, one—only one—was all alone. His tears formed the Sea of Rhûn; his screams brought the gales. And now, dear child, if you listen real close, you can still hear his wails._"_ She had a profound obsession with giants, I realized at a very young age, perhaps because she herself was so small, less than five feet tall. Little Nanny Nim, they often called her, said she had hobbit's blood in her, something she neither confirmed nor denied, but I wouldn't doubt it to be true. She'd grown up in Bree, after all, a place where many hobbits once lived during the time of peace.

Of all the stories, I couldn't say any were true, not as I marched through the land of Rhûn. I saw no mountainous cornfields or wiggling potatoes; I saw no giant birds or mountain-walkers; and I certainly saw no giant or heard his wails. I saw nothing before me, nothing but an endless sea of grass: tall grasses, small grasses, thick grasses, thin grasses; it was miles of green, and nothing else. The greatest thrill came when seeing a lone weed among the blades, and even those were few and far between. Rhûn, I quickly realized, was not mysterious at all; rather, it was quite dull.

We'd set out early, but whether it was morning or still night, I couldn't be sure; day and night seemed to run together in an endless darkness now. The orcs seemed to prefer this, for they thrived in darkness, but I couldn't stand it. For miles I struggled along on my tired feet, fighting the never-ending battle against fatigue, but before I knew it, the battle was over, and I had collapsed to the ground, my face buried in the thick grass.

"On your feet!" Woggha ordered, kicking my side with his boot. When I failed to rise, he kicked me harder. "On your feet or I'll carry you on a spear!"

His threat didn't matter to me. I couldn't have moved even if I'd wanted to. After days without sleep, my body was finally starting to shut down.

"On your feet," the elf said as he grabbed my collar and pulled me up from the ground, but my legs weren't strong enough to hold me, and I started to fall back down. The elf caught me, but instead of pulling me back up, he hoisted me into his arms and carried me himself. His chest felt warm against my cheek.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Save your thanks for someone who deserves it," he replied, keeping his grey eyes forward.

This was my second time being carried by an elf, but the first time seemed so long ago now. The High Pass across the Misty Mountains was our first obstacle on the journey to Rhûn. At the time, my biggest concern was Elladan's opinion of me, and Turin seemed to care only for his sword. The twins spent the whole time fighting, with each other or with Turin, and Legolas wanted nothing to do with any of us. He thought we were naïve children who were doomed to fail. How I despised him then. But maybe he was right, after all. Maybe we should have turned back, Turin and I, and I should have just given Legolas the amulet. If my pride hadn't been so strong, I would have—and I should have—but it was too late for that now. Just as I wanted, the amulet was in my care, mine alone, and I had nobody to help me.

I spent the rest of the journey suffering in silent torture, for I could find peace in neither my dreams nor my thoughts, and they were all I had to keep me company. Both were filled with painful memories, first of the horrific bloodbath I'd witnessed the night before, but later, and worst of all, visions of Turin. Sometimes I saw him beside me, joking and playing with his sword as he once did, but other times he appeared as a walking corpse skewered with dozens of spears. He would start taunting me, saying his fate was my doing, that his death was my fault. And he was right. Over and over, I told him I was sorry, that I wanted to stay and fight by his side, and he would always respond the same: "You can't protect me. You can't protect anyone." Then he would disappear, but not forever. He walked beside me for miles, always tormenting me, and that soon brought me a strange comfort. He was haunting me, but I didn't want him to leave. As much as it pained me, I was glad to see him somewhere, even if only in a delusion.

When he appeared for the last time, he had a fearful look in his eye as he stared forward, and then he shouted something I couldn't hear and vanished. As I looked ahead myself, I saw a black ship with grey sails docked along the shore, but beyond that was the vast Sea of Rhûn; its waters, almost black in the darkness, violently rose and crashed against the bank, growling with the wrath of the sea. On the shore, waiting at the end of a large plank, was a rather frightening looking man. His skin was a dark, sickly grey and heavily pierced, and his nose and ears were fiercely pointed, much like an orc, and yet he still very much looked like a man. I had heard of half-orcs once before, but I thought Turin was only playing when he spoke of them. To think of such a horrid beast as an orc bedding a daughter of men made me shudder, and when the elf lowered me to the ground, I stepped far away from the orc-man.

"Where is the other ship?" the elf asked.

"Sailed two days ago," replied the orc-man. "You're late. They won't be pleased with you."

"They will have to manage. I do not fear those miserable old hags. What harm can they do to me that I would not gladly welcome upon myself?"

The orc-man snorted. "And here I thought elves were merry."

"What reason do I have to be merry in this age?" He leaned back a little to survey the dark sky. "We should leave," he said. "With luck, we will reach the fortress by morning." Then he began the long climb up the plank, and I was pushed along by the burly uruk behind me.

Old hags, he'd mentioned, and now a mysterious fortress in Rhûn. Back in the Wood of Greenleaves, he'd told me that he was sent by someone to retrieve not just the amulet but me as well. Who was he bringing me to? I could only assume they were the old hags he'd been talking about, but I still had many questions that needed answering, and soon.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked the elf while the ship's orc crew walked about the deck, preparing to set sail. His uruk companions had disappeared once we boarded, and now it was just him and me.

"You need not know," he replied, keeping his back to me.

"_I need not know?_" I repeated, aghast by his words. "Of course I need to know! My life could be at risk!"

"And what if it was?" He whipped around and glared at me with cold, narrow eyes. "Would it ease your worries to know your fate? Would it bring you peace? Shall I tell you what they intend to do to you? It will not be pleasant, I assure you." And then I saw something else in his eyes; it appeared for just a moment—guilt.

"You won't tell me," I said, "because you can't face it yourself. You know what they will do to me, and it kills you to know you are the one responsible."

Without warning, the elf came at me and threw me over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" I screamed, violently pounding on his back with my fists. "Put me down! Put me down!" A gasp escaped my lips as he dropped me down the open hatch, and I fell past the wooden ladder and crashed to the floor, landing hard on my back.

"Enjoy your final moments in blissful ignorance," he said before slamming the hatch shut, leaving me alone in pitch-blackness.

I stayed on the ground for a while, paralyzed not by pain but by fear. I was going to die, I knew it; once this ship reached land, I was going to die, but I didn't know how or why, and that terrified me. "I am such a fool, Turin," I whispered into the darkness. "You told me to run, and I tried, but I couldn't run far enough. You sacrificed your life for me, and I've wasted it. You died for some silly girl who can't do anything right!" I closed my eyes, feeling the tears coming, but I refused to let them fall. I would not dishonor Turin's memory with more tears.

Below deck was eerily quiet, and yet I knew I was not alone. Although I couldn't see or hear anything, I could sense a presence moving about and coming closer. Suddenly, I felt something crawl on top of my hair, and I heard the high-pitched squeak of a rat right beside my ear. Panicking, I threw my hand out, smacking away something small and furry, and then I fled the side of the ship, crawling on all fours through the darkness until I hit a wall. As I searched around with my hands, I felt a few wooden barrels and some fabric sacks, filled with heavy things, rotten things. I could smell the horrid stench coming from them, and so I pushed them all away, which brought more high squeaks. Rats were everywhere, I realized, and they were crawling all over my legs as they squirmed about.

_Rats_, I thought. _How I hate rats. Where is a big cat when you need one? _There were many cats living around the Grey Keep in Erudin, and they kept all the rats away. Sometimes they brought them into the great hall as gifts and presented them at our feet. Mother hated that, so did Winnie, but Father and I always found it amusing. In jest, Father once picked up the rat and called to the cooks, "Dinner is served!" I laughed so hard that day.

There was another sound amidst the squeaking, a loud thud followed by a long drag. Two, maybe three times I heard it, and it got louder each time. The rats came running past me in a huge wave, like they were scared of something, but one wasn't fast enough. Something caught it, I heard, and started eating it, slurping and chewing until there was nothing left. I backed away from the noise, taking a cue from the rats, and then I heard the soft thud of the rat's corpse hitting the floor. The rat-eater was on the move again; I could hear him crawling about, his movements clumsy and loud, like he had no sense of direction at all. His ragged breathing slowed as he came close, and I could hear him whispering in an incomprehensible language, possibly some form of Orkish.

"Little rats, little rats ... come 'ere, come 'ere." And then he started mimicking their squeaks with his own voice. He crawled right past me, I sensed, and I could feel his breath brushing against my skin as he passed. The rotten smell of spoiled food and dead rats must have masked my scent because he had yet to notice me, and for that I was grateful.

"Where are you, little rats?" he asked, keeping his voice pleasant, as if he believed it would somehow trick them into trusting him, but it didn't seem to be working.

Then I felt a rat crawl over my hand, and it let out a quiet squeak, but in the silence, it might as well have shouted. Immediately, the rat-eater snarled and came at us with thunderous movements. The rat scurried across my lap, and I huddled close to the wooden barrel next to me, staying as silent as I could. I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my breathing.

"A little rat's voice I heard, yes I did." His breath tickled the hand that covered my mouth. In and out he breathed, and then he said in a rough whisper, "I can hear you breathing, little rat."

Slowly, my free hand reached for a rotten potato that had slipped out of the open sack, intending to clobber him with it and try to escape. It was no rock, though, and I could already feel my fingers beginning to squish it. Soon, it would be no more than mush in my hand.

"I can smell you, little rat," he said, pushing his nose against the top of my head, and he took a deep whiff. "Mmmmm! Sweet, just like a flower." Then he pulled away. "I wonder what you taste like."

Before he could find out, the rat-eater gave sudden grunt, and then I heard the splintering sound of wood cracking. To the right of me, a dim light began to glow, filling the darkness, and I at last saw my attacker. The rat-eater was a sallow green orc whose legs were hideously twisted out of shape, which explained his gawkish movements. His poor sense of direction was caused by his lack of eyes—they had been barbarically carved from his head, leaving only two heavily scarred sockets. Those empty sockets still watched me even after the orc was dead, his skull pierced right to the side of the wooden barrel by a black, iron-tipped arrow.

"Stupid girl," Woggha said as he placed a lit candle into the lamp hanging on the wall. Gaakt, while lowering his bow, took a few weary steps away from him and the fire. "Her attacker is blind, and still she sits cowering in a corner."

Gaakt came over and ripped his arrow from the orc's head. "What a waste," he grumbled, knocking the corpse over with his foot. "He made for good sport."

After saving me, the two uruks forced me to go with them to a small kitchen toward the far end of the ship. As soon as we entered the room, a pungent smell filled my nose, one almost as rotten as the spoiled food. The smell was coming from a large pot that was stewing above the fire. Woggha went to tend to the boiling pot immediately, while Gaakt remained in front of me, staring at me with an intimidating glare.

"You like staring at my face?" he said, and then he came right at me and shoved his face close to mine. "Want to touch it? Huh?" He grabbed my hand and tried to force me to touch his burnt flesh, but I resisted him. "Do you? _Do you?_"

"No!" I yelled, jerking my hand away. "No, I don't!"

"THEN STOP STARING AT IT!" he roared back, and then he left me and slumped down beside the wall, muttering obscenities as he fingered his bow.

"Sit down, girl," Garekk said from the table. "If we were going to kill you, we would've done it already."

Hesitantly, I sat down on the bench across from the uruk, who then said not a word to me. Shortly after, Woggha slammed a bowl of murky brown stew onto the table, telling me to eat. Simmering in the muddy liquid were bits of putrid potatoes and small cuts of dark, overcooked meat, a mixture of rat and orc by the color of it. He gave Garekk and Gaakt bowls of their own before serving himself, and the uruks feasted without a care, like they hadn't eaten in months. I, however, was not so eager to eat.

"Why are you doing this?" I had to ask. "You saw the horror of last night. That's just the beginning. If Valmoria's wakes, you will suffer just the same as we will, so why help her?"

Garekk lowered his bowl to the table. "We suffer regardless," he said. "Look around. We're living in a plague already."

I narrowed my eyes, finding it rather odd to hear an orc criticizing the state of Middle-earth. "What do you know about it? You orcs are used to cruelty. You're all a bunch of barbarians without any respect for life."

"Yes," he replied, nodding his head, "but we are not the only monsters in the world. I have seen men commit acts far worse than any orc. An orc will kill a man, slaughter his entire family even, but it will end there. A man will kill a man, rape his wife, and then enslave his children. Tell me, which is more cruel?"

I was at a loss for words.

"You want to know the real difference between us?" he went on. "We know what we are. You try to deny it."

I stared down at my stew and mused, "It's funny, you speak of men's cruelty, and yet here you sit, eating your own kind."

The other two uruks shared a boisterous laugh, and Garekk gave a mindful smirk. "When it's a choice between life or death, you'll be surprised what you're capable of."

"Well, I hope it never comes to that," I said, and then I rose from the bench and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the uruks to their meal.

I climbed back up to the deck, and as I passed by the captain's cabin, I heard a man softly singing inside. It was a sad song, I felt, an Elvish song, yet I could have sworn I heard a name mentioned several times, a woman's name—Lyessa. I pressed my ear against the door to hear it more clearly, but then the singing suddenly stopped, and the elf pulled open the door, making me stumble a little as I tried to regain my balance.

"It is impolite to eavesdrop," he said coldly.

"Yes. Sorry. I heard your singing, and it—"

"Just come in." He stepped aside, and I slowly entered the room. "You can have the bed," he told me. "You need your rest."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, but I went no further than that. Meanwhile, the elf returned to his chair beside the writing desk, but he did not resume his song. Instead, he sat in silence.

"Who is she," I asked after a few moments of silence, "the woman in your song?"

He stared at the floor, lost in thought—or a memory. "A farmer's daughter," he eventually answered, "poor and plain. I used to watch her work in the fields sometimes. Now, she is just a name in a song."

"What happened to her?"

He shrugged. "She died, as all men do. A pack of wolves attacked her family's farm in the night. Nobody survived. I hunted down her killer, intending to avenge her, but when the moment came, I could not do it. Instead, I asked to share the wolf's sight, to join our spirits, and he accepted ... but with a price." He lifted his tunic just above his abdomen, revealing four long, deep scars.

"It was Feredir," I realized. Suddenly, everything made a little more sense. The elf's extraordinary eyes were, in fact, Feredir's eyes, and when the wolf died, he took them back.

The elf leaned back in his chair. "I thought she would stay with me somehow, but a grieving elf is a mad elf. I should have known it would end that way. Elves and men have no place together. Their unions only end in death and suffering." Then he looked right at me and said, "Whatever feelings you hold for the elf, forget them, forget them all. You will both be better off."

I shook my head. "You misunderstand. I don't have those kind of feelings for him ... I respect him, that's all."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "It was not respect that made you surrender your freedom. Call it want you want, love or respect, but rid yourself of it." Then he stood up from his chair and started towards the door. "Sleep now," he said before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

_He's wrong_, I thought as I crawled towards the pillow and collapsed onto the mattress. _I don't love Legolas. He's the elf from the Fellowship—he's my hero—that's why I wanted to save him. _I closed my eyes. _I don't love him. _

My dreams took me somewhere cold and dark, a place I had never seen before. The empty darkness seemed to extend for miles in every direction, like an endless black abyss, and yet I felt suffocated, trapped. Tiny bumps spread across my skin as I shivered from the cold, but I kept walking forward—I had to—because Turin was leading me. The living corpse moved along in shuffled steps, leaving a trail of bright red blood behind him. His blood led me all the way to a high cliff's edge, where Turin stopped and pointed down below.

"They swim forever," he said.

Moving closer, I peered down and saw a bottomless river as black as night snaking between the cracks, stretching far beyond what my eyes could see; and in the water I could make out the faces of people, men and elves alike, weightlessly drifting along with the current, their transparent bodies aglow with radiant hues of blue. I watched them float for a while, hypnotized by their beauty.

"You'll swim too," Turin said, and then he pushed me off the cliff.

Screaming, I fell and fell, and the floating souls rose from the water, arms extended, intending to ensnare me and pull me down with them. One hand caught my wrist, and I shrieked, "No, let me go! Let me go!"

"If I let you go, you will die!" shouted the elf as he desperately clung to my slipping hand.

Once his voice broke the illusion, I felt the howling wind tugging at my hair, and the icy rain pouring on my face, and the frigid seawater biting at my legs. I was dangling over the edge of the ship, though how I got there, I couldn't say. Below me, the angry black waves were rising high and trying to swallow me up, but once I stopped squirming and screaming, the elf was able to pull me up to safety with little effort.

"What were you thinking?" he said as I clutched onto him tightly, my heart racing. I was so shaken that I was unable to voice a clear response, so I just murmured back a few incomprehensible syllables.

The rain started falling harder now, landing with such force that I feared it might bore holes through the deck. With my cheek pressed against the elf's chest, I watched the raindrops fall from the sky, growing larger and larger before my eyes. A droplet as large as a bird plummeted toward the deck, and it fell just as that, a white gull, dead but not from the fall. From its eyes dripped the same black liquid I'd seen in the dead fish, and I remembered the elf's words: "_Fish will rise from the water, birds will fall from the sky. And if she wakes, we all will suffer. All of us will die." _

"Go back inside," the elf ordered, pushing me toward the cabin. With each step I took, I heard another bird thud against the deck or splash into the water. One landed just above my foot, and I had to step over it to get back into the cabin.

Once inside, I leapt onto the bed and watched the storm from the window. By now, the boat had begun tilting back and forth against the waves' relentless assault, which sent some of the furniture sliding, but the bed was firmly fastened to the floor. As the storm brewed and sent down its fury, lighting up the sky with bright flashes of lightning, I saw a group of tall, dark peaks jutting from the horizon. For a second, I almost thought I could see the lonely giant.

"The Mountains of Rhûn," I whispered. "We're here."

The storm settled as we drew closer to shore, and the orcs spent the rest of the journey clearing the deck of all the bird corpses that had littered it. This time, however, they all knew better than to try to make a meal out of them.

The Mountains of Rhûn were high, jagged, and black, but with a glossy sheen like obsidian, shimmering brilliantly when the stone captured the torch lights. They were beautiful, and yet they were terrifying, none more so than the central peak, a massive stone fortress carved right into the mountain. Honestly, it reminded me of Thranduil's Halls in the Wood of Greenleaves, but this fortress was cold and ominous, with razor-sharp edges that could cut you with even the lightest touch. And at the very summit, high above all else, stood a single tower, set aglow like a tiny flame on a candle.

"We part ways here," the elf said to me as the crew prepared to dock.

"And where will you go now?" I asked out of curiosity.

He paused to think about it. "Lothlórien, I suspect, to Caras Galadhon. I should like to spend the rest of my days there, as short as they may be."

The City of Trees, home to Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim, how I'd wished to see it just once before I died, see the giant mallorn trees and their golden leaves, which sounded so beautiful in the stories. Now, I would probably never get to see them.

"Since I will never see you again," I went on, forgetting the long-desired adventure that would never be, "I would like to know your name."

"What good is an elf's name to a dead girl? You will not remember it after today."

"Even so," I pressed, "I would like to know it. You refuse to speak of my fate, so you should at least pay me this kindness."

"That is fair," he relented. "My name is Calanon."

"Calanon," I repeated slowly, committing it to memory. "Well, then, goodbye, Calanon. Thank you for keeping your word."

"Goodbye, Anariel," he said as he leaned in close, catching me completely off guard, and I felt his hand brush against the leather pouch on my hip. "Take care."

When we parted, I reached for my pouch and felt the hardness of Indilwen's vial inside. "Why did you ...?" I started to ask, but then the orcs began to drag me away.

The mysterious elf stayed on the deck for a while, silently watching the orcs lead me toward the stone fortress. He showed no emotion on his face or in his eyes, and he cared for no one, not even himself. He was hard elf, cold and untrusting, and so very cynical, but still I could not hate him or even fear him. If anything, I felt sorry for him. He longed for death, an end to his suffering, and maybe he would have it.

The orcs threw me into a small, dimly-lit cave cell, with wrought iron bars and low ceilings that dripped cold, torturous water onto my head no matter how many times I moved. This horrid cell, however, was not mine alone. Someone sat huddled in the corner, sobbing and shaking, begging for death in a hushed voice. I stayed far from him at first, wearily staring at him from a distance, but then, as my eyes began to adjust to the change in light, I began to notice familiar features. A long, gangling body, full of cuts and bruises. A grey tunic, which had once been in pristine shape, one worthy of endless praise, but now carried several tears and was full of blood and dirt. And, most recognizable of all, a head of thick auburn hair, unevenly cut at the top, like it had been sliced straight through the middle by a first-rate archer's arrow.

I thought my tired mind had created yet another delusion. "Turin!" I cried in disbelief, my voice cracking, and then I rushed over to him and lifted his drooping head so that I could at last see his face. He had the same pointed nose as Turin, slightly bent out of shape from an accident when we were young, and the same lips, and the same beautiful eyes, now clouded with pain and fatigue. It was Turin, it was!

"Ana ...?" His heavy-lidded green eyes struggled to find me, and his dry, cracked lips could barely form words.

"Yes, it's me," I said, gently stroking his cheek with my fingers, trying to coax the warmth back into his cold flesh. Finally, I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and held him close, blanketing his shivering body with my body heat. "Oh, Turin, I thought you were dead!"

He laid his head on my shoulder, wincing when his bruised cheek made contact. "I wish I was," he croaked, and his words stunned me.

"What? How can you say that?"

Slowly, he placed his right arm around me, just the right arm. At first, I thought the other had failed to rise due to a lack of strength, but when I reached for it, I found just a short stump where his left arm should have been. My eyes widened, and then I heard him sob into my ear, "They took my arm, Ana!"

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><p><strong>Well, folks, there are only two chapters left! Maybe three, depending on where I end them. The next chapter will be the epic climax. It's do or die!<strong>

** Thanks for reading! Please, review!**


	20. A Flame in the Darkness

**Okay, I lied. The epic climax is going to start in this chapter and finish in the next. I was going to do it all as one chapter, but then I realized there would be no suspense if I did it that way. **

**That being said, enjoy the beginning of the end, haha.**

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><p><span>Chapter 20: A Flame in the Darkness<span>

Carefully, so as to avoid bringing him more pain, I laid Turin down and gently rested his head upon my lap, but I was not careful enough; even the slightest movement made him cry out, a cry full of such agony that it stung my heart. He began to weep when it was over, and he begged me to kill him; over and over, he pleaded for a swift death, but I could not grant it. "I'm sorry, Turin," I said, holding back tears. "I cannot do it—I won't." It was selfish of me to keep him in such suffering, I knew it was, but I was just so glad to see him again. It was like he'd risen from the dead, and I couldn't send him back to the grave, not now. "I'm sorry, Turin."

"It's okay, Ana," he whispered, and he took my hand and held it as strongly as he could. "I would do the same if it was you."

He had forgiven me, but he hadn't absolved me of guilt. I hung my head and started to sob. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have taken the necklace."

"Hey, I brought you there, remember?" he replied, forcing a weak smile. "Don't blame yourself."

My tears trickled onto his cheeks and mixed with his own tears. When the water touched his lips, his tongue came out to try to take it in. "You need water," I said, and I took out Indilwen's vial and brought it to his lips, titling his head up so that he could drink. "Here, drink."

Slowly, he drank in the liquid, and then he started coughing. "Ah, the elf poison again," he jested.

I chuckled lightly, glad to hear his jokes again. "It will make you feel better," I said. "Please, drink."

When I put the vial back to his lips, he shook his head and pushed it away. "No more. I don't need it."

I looked at the vial; it was nearly a quarter full. "There is more. You can have it all. I don't need it."

"Keep it," he insisted. "I feel better already ... but I will never be as I was, will I?" The sadness came back to his eyes then, and he said, "I can never be a knight now, can I? I may not even be able to wield a sword. What am I to do with my life now? What point is there in living?"

"You lost an arm, that is all," I said, trying to raise his spirits. "You can still wield a sword, I know you can, and you can still become a knight. You just have to believe in yourself."

"Who has ever heard of a one-armed knight?" he argued, his face awash with dismay.

"Then you will be the first, won't you?" I started running my fingers through his auburn hair, hoping to calm him. "You will be a legend, remembered forever as someone persevered against all odds and went on to achieve greatness." I found myself smiling. "Yes, that will be you, Turin."

He smiled, his eyes bright with wonder, lost in the dream. "You should have seen me, Ana. I faced those orcs with such strength, just like all the great heroes from the stories. You would have been so proud of me."

"I am always proud of you," I said.

"But I was a fool," he bitterly spat as anger took over his once serene face. "I was so caught up in the moment, and I looked away just once—for just a moment, I swear!—and I didn't even see the sword or feel the blow; I just saw my arm fall ... and soon I fell with it." He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist as the memories flooded back to him. "I lost my sword, my precious blade, and then the orc grabbed my arm, snatched it right from the ground, and he—he—he started eating it right there!—I saw his teeth ripping through my flesh—I saw all of it!" He choked back hot tears of anguish. "I wanted to die! More than anything, I wanted to die! ... but she wouldn't let me."

"Who wouldn't let you?" I asked.

His green eyes opened and stared hauntingly at me, like he wasn't seeing me at all, but someone else instead. "A woman came to me," he said. "She had a young face, but her skin looked old, thin and stretched too far, and her eyes had gone white. She said I couldn't die now, and so she stitched up my arm and poured this sour black liquid down my throat—thick, sticky, awful stuff—and she threw me on a ship and brought me here. I feel like I've been dying for the last two days, but I won't die."

When he turned his head away, I took a moment to study his severed limb. The stump began just above the elbow, or where his elbow had once been, and the wound had been stitched closed with what appeared to be thinly cut strips of brown leather, rushed and reckless work to my eyes; and the flesh around the sutures was black and rotten, carrying a foul order and oozing with pus. It was a miracle for him to have survived so long in such a condition ... or perhaps it wasn't a miracle at all; perhaps it was a dark magic. Calanon had mentioned some old hags when he spoke to the orc-man, and now Turin was speaking of woman with an old face.

"It is no coincidence," I whispered to myself. These women, whoever they were, wanted me, that much I knew, but what did they want with Turin? Why save him just to keep him in such pain? "What will happen to us?" I wondered, and my imagination answered that question in the worst way, but I did not want to believe it.

"I'm sorry, Ana," Turin said to me, tears coming back to his eyes, and then his voice broke off into a quiet whimper. "I don't think I will be able to save you this time—but I'm going to try, you know I will."

"Shhhh, it's all right," I replied, brushing my fingers across his forehead. Even in such pain, Turin was still more worried about me than himself. "You should sleep," I told him. "You need your rest. We both do."

Slowly, he tried to close his eyes, but then they opened again, almost on their own. "I have not slept in days," he said. "I see horrible things in my dreams, Ana. A red dragon, breathing fire, destroying everything."

His words struck me, for I too had seen a similar dragon, but I decided it would be best not to tell him. "Such dragons no longer exist, Turin. You have nothing to fear."

"I fear that you will not be here when I wake ... or I won't be here."

"It will be fine," I assured him, trying to feign confidence. "Just sleep." I stroked the top of his head until his eyelids fell, bringing him into a deep slumber, but even in sleep, the pain remained on his face.

I wiped the tears from my cheek; whether they were old or new, I couldn't be sure. Truthfully, I was frightened for the both of us, and I could find no comforting thoughts to ease that fear. "This is it," I realized. "It will all end here." Then I looked down at Turin and thought, _At least I get to die with you, Turin. I'm happy for that. _

We slept then, he and I, a brief and restless sleep, and we were forced to wake when the orc guards came for us. Turin was still asleep when they took him, pulled him up right by his arm, and the boy didn't have the strength to fight back. They handled him roughly, the only way orcs knew, and Turin was as limp as a ragdoll, barely able stand on his own legs, and so the orcs dragged him along, like he was a freshly killed goat. When one orc struck his tender stump, by no accident rest assured, the boy howled in pain.

"Stop it!" I shouted, struggling against my own captors. "Can't you see he's in enough pain already?"

In response, the orc placed both his hands around Turin's stump of an arm, and then, looking right at me, he started to squeeze the mangled appendage with all his strength. Falling to his knees, Turin let out a torturous cry that echoed off the walls, and the orc just laughed and pulled him back up by the stump. Then they forced us both out of the cell and pushed us up a flight of narrow, winding stairs that seemed to go on forever. Turin stumbled once, and the orcs let him fall, and he smashed his face on the stone step. When they finally pulled him up, his nose and mouth were red with blood and a bit of his tooth remained on the step where he had fallen. I heard it crunch when one of the orcs behind me stepped on it.

Out of the dungeons we climbed, and then we entered a massive black cave with a ceiling so high that it seemed to join the night sky. Dripstone had begun to take root from above and below, jutting out like a thousand lances to guard the cave. Waterfalls dropped gallons of shimmering silver-blue water that pooled on the cave floor and flowed out of the mouth in a tiny river that went on to join the Sea of Rhûn. We crossed this pool of water as we continued on, and its water was so still and so clear that it was like we were striding on top of a mirror, creating a reflection so vivid that I began to wonder which side I was on. Only when I touched my cheek and felt the softness of my flesh did I find the answer, and yet the mirror's image of me still seemed uncertain.

The orcs led us across a steep, narrow bridge, one so high that it became lost in a thick cloud of mist. I moved across it with slow, tentative steps, unable to see where the bridge ended and the fall began. I took a misstep once and felt nothing but air beneath my foot, but an orc caught me before the mist could take the rest of me. They kept a steady hold on both of us, but still Turin stumbled along, always leaning far to the right, so far that if the orc hadn't been holding on to him, he would have certainly fallen. It seemed that was what he wanted, though, because every time his eyes opened, they were always looking down, as if weighing the risk against the reward.

Turin was barely standing when we were brought into the great hall of the inner keep, a hall as dark and damp as its outside cave, lined with glistening statues carved out of obsidian, depicting the perfect form of elves, but all of them were without faces; they had been cruelly smashed and their remains scattered at their feet. The path between these statues led to a great stone throne with five jagged points that looked like fingers. At first glance, it seemed like a stone giant's hand had been severed at the wrist and mounted to the ground. What a cruel and hideous trophy that would have been.

"A magnificent structure, is it not?" said a woman in a high, melodic voice. Three cloaked figures drifted effortlessly down the staircase, as if they were floating above it. The two in the back waited at the bottom, while the one in front slowly came toward us, and then she drew back her hood, revealing a face whiter than snow and as translucent as frosted glass, glossed with dark pink hues from the underlying tissue. She stared at us with colorless eyes that sparkled like snow in the sun. "Soon, this kingdom will regain its former glory, and she will sit upon her great throne once more, Valmoria, the Queen of Queens!"

"The Queen of Queens!" echoed the two cloaked women in soft voices. "May her reign be everlasting!"

"It will be," the third concluded, and then she went to Turin and began to look him over with her eyes and her fingers, touching every aching inch of his body, paying special attention to his amputated limb. Turin took on a strong, proud stance and kept his face as hard as stone, but his legs were shaking beneath him, ready to give out at any moment. The woman saw this and smiled. "You have a strong will to survive, dear boy; I could sense it from the moment I saw you. Like a little maggot, you were, wiggling on the ground, slowly bleeding to death, and yet there was a fire burning in your eyes."

She reached out to touch his face, but Turin recoiled from her and hissed, "Don't touch me, witch!"

Her smile grew. "Nothing burns brighter than hatred. You are a fine boy, indeed, Turin. I hope your flame never dies."

Slowly, her eyes drifted away from Turin's heated face and settled upon me. At once, she came to me and began touching my face and hair with her ice-cold fingers, like I was some glass sculpture to be adored.

"It is you!" she cried exuberantly, her eyes aglow with fervent joy. "Why, you are more beautiful than I imagined ... a blessed gift from our great queen. I almost cannot believe you are real." She took my face in both hands, and then she asked, her voice reduced to a manic whisper, "Have you seen her? You have, haven't you? What did she show you? What did you see?" As she spoke, her grip became hard and overpowering, like an iron vise, and I could not escape her. Over and over, she kept on asking about what I had seen. "Horrible things," she went on. "Death, endless death, and more grief than you have the tears for. I have seen it too. It will all end once the dragon comes. His fire will destroy everything."

I stood firm and answered as confidently as I could, "There are no more fire-breathers. They're all dead."

"Maybe so, but you have seen the fire." Then she released me and stepped back, looking at both Turin and me with the same intense stare. "You both have seen it, which is why you are here."

"Let Turin go," I begged. "He has nothing to do with this. I'm the one you want, so let him go!"

Turin weakly shook his head. "No, I won't go without you!"

The woman's eyes passed back and forth between the both of us, carefully observing with her judging white eyes. "Such sweet loyalty. It truly grieves me to bring an end to such a rare relationship, but it must be done. The fire cannot spread. The dragon cannot rise." Her eyes were right on Turin when she said those words, and I couldn't understand why.

She stepped far to the side then and made a brief gesture with her long, pale fingers. At her command, the hall came alive with the grinding sound of gears turning, and then the floor began to quake and separate before us, revealing a dark passage that seemed without a bottom, and it began right at our feet. I managed to step away from it quickly, but Turin lingered along the edge until I pulled him back with a subtle jerk. For a moment, we both stared down into the darkness, straining our eyes to see what lay beyond it. At first, I saw nothing, but then two small lights appeared, yellow and shining bright, like the hungry eyes of a wolf. The growl that erupted from the darkness, however, was too loud for a common wolf.

"Did you know that wargs are said to be demonic wolves?" the woman said from behind us. "Inhabited by very dark spirits, bred by Morgoth in the Elder Days, but I have found that they are no more evil than any other creature dwelling in this dark wasteland." She moved behind Turin then and spoke right into his ear. "You will go on to do great things, Turin, great things and horrible things. I stand here in awe and in fear of you. Truthfully, I wish for nothing more than to see you in all your blazing glory, but for the sake of Middle-earth ..." She pulled away from him and took a step back. "... the fire must die."

She gave him a light shove forward, one that would normally barely cause him to stir, but today he fell. Honestly, a part of me wondered if he let her do it, if he yearned for death so badly that he just let himself go; but whether it was intentional or not, Turin did fall, and he disappeared into the darkness. He didn't even scream. He didn't do anything.

"Turin!" I screamed, dropping to my hands and knees as I tried to find him. He had hit the bottom—I'd heard the thud with my own ears—but I heard nothing after that, not a grunt, not a groan, nothing. "Turin!" I shouted, quickly growing more desperate. "Turin, say something!"

"... Why can't I die?" I finally heard him utter from below. "If there is a god, he must hate me."

I let out a deep sigh of relief, but that relief vanished when I saw the two yellow eyes appear again. "Turin, you have to get out of there!"

"Of course," he mocked. "Just lower the rope the wise elves gave you—oh wait, they gave you no rope, did they? No, all they gave you was a flask of drinking water. Such foresight they have."

The glowing eyes were drawing closer to him. "Turin, this is not the time for jokes!"

"Who says I'm joking?" he shouted back. "Do you think I care if I die now? I have no reason to live! I welcome death with open arms! Come on, have at me, you fleabag!"

"Turin! Turin!" Without a thought, I lunged forward, intending to fall with him, but then a pale hand clasped around my mouth and pulled me back with great strength. Slowly, my eyelids began to fall as a sweet aroma drifted into my nostrils, coaxing me into a deep sleep, and I too slipped into the darkness.

In my dreams, I saw the red dragon again. Gliding through the air, its great wings outstretched and magnificent, the dragon soared around the darkest corners of my mind, raining his fire down upon my most precious memories. It took away my family, it took away the beautiful forests of my home, and it took away Legolas. I saw his body burst into flames and his ashes scatter to the wind.

Worst of all, I saw Turin riding on the dragon's back, basking in the glory of it all.

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><p><strong>And so concludes part one of the climax. What do you think is the meaning of the dragon, and what does it have to do with Turin? What is going to happen to Ana? What do these women want with her? Share your thoughts, ask questions, but please review!<strong>

**I know the chapters are pretty short, but I hope they hold your attention, regardless. I didn't mean for this to be long, epic tale, but I hope it's not boring you guys.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	21. The Awakening

**Sorry this chapter took so long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

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><p><span>Chapter 21: The Awakening<span>

I woke to the steady pound of cold water on my forehead; small, frigid droplets fell like sharp icicles hammering into my skull, over and over, never ceasing. When I finally attempted to wipe the water from my face, I found that I was unable to move my hand high enough to reach it; in fact, I could barely make it half way. Confused, I lifted my other hand and met the same restraint, and my legs were also being held down. With a quiet groan of frustration, I forced my eyelids fully open, making the chilling water drip into my eyes and blur my vision, but still I was able to see them, the rusty iron chains that held me, binding my wrists and my ankles to a slab of cold stone.

I was alone in a dark room, surrounded by hundreds of lit candles that burned bright like the sun and yet provided no warmth, not even a breath of it. The brilliant flames flickered atop their wicks like serpent tongues, hissing and spitting venomous black smoke that rose to join a moonless night sky. It was as beautiful as it was horrifying. The very same could have been said about the mysterious woman who later appeared amongst the flames, a women I now knew to fear. I could still remember how Turin fell and became lost in the shadows.

"Middle-earth has fallen into darkness," she said as she stepped through the ring of candles. The red-orange flames licked across her glossy face, but she remained unhurt and her robes unscathed. "A thousand cries go unheard by those above as the innocent beg for an end to the suffering, an end to the darkness, but she has heard their cries, Valmoria, the Queen of Queens and Bringer of Light. She will bring an end to it all and guide Middle-earth into a new and glorious age."

"An age of darkness," I spat, struggling against my chains. "An age of death!"

"One needs the darkness to appreciate the light," the woman replied, "for light can only be seen in darkness; and only when surrounded by death can one truly understand the glory of life. Middle-earth has forgotten all this, but it will remember soon."

"So get on with it!" I shouted. "Why am I here? You have everything you need, so get on with it!"

The woman came close and placed her frozen hand upon my forehead. "Yes, my dear child, we have acquired her ancient possessions."

She made a gentle beckoning motion with just the tips of her long, white, slender fingers. At her call, the two other women silently came forward, their faces masked by heavy black cloaks. The taller one carried a single candle, its flame small and steady, and the other carried a gilded book adorned with brilliant red rubies just like the one in the amulet around my neck. They stood at my feet, and although I could not see their eyes, I knew they were watching me, waiting.

"Behold the sacred text," the woman said. "Written with her own blood, it is filled with all her love, sadness, and hatred for this world and its creators. Before her slumber, Valmoria locked the text away so that we could find it and summon her when Middle-earth was ready. That time is now."

She smiled and delicately swept her fingertips across my forehead, as if to bring me comfort. "And now we have everything we need: the text, the amulet, ... and the vessel."

I could feel her stealing my breath with every word. "The vessel?" I repeated, my voice cracking.

"We can summon her spirit," the woman said as she stepped away, "but she still requires a body, and Valmoria has chosen you specifically. It is a great honor, Anariel. Your sacrifice will deliver Middle-earth into the new age."

_My sacrifice will end it all ... _There was such irony in that. For so long, I spoke of nothing but wanting to save Middle-earth, and now my body was to become an instrument of its destruction. I knew little about divine will, but this all seemed fated somehow, like I was meant to find the amulet and become its keeper in order to come here, to this cursed place, ... but not to destroy it.

My head was spinning with troubling thoughts. Valmoria had shown me such horrible visions—there was so much suffering and death—and I knew they were not false, in my heart I knew it. Was this the only way to save Middle-earth from itself? Thinking of all the innocent suffering, and knowing it would only get worse, I couldn't help but wonder if Middle-earth was truly beyond saving.

_I have the power to end it all right now_, I thought. _It would be so easy. _

The voice in my head was soon joined by another in my ear, but it was not my own. Forming a triangle around me, the three women had opened the book and begun reciting the text aloud, their voices in perfect unison, speaking together in an ancient tongue that I had never heard before. At first, it sounded like a sweet, melodic prayer, soothing to my ears, but then it started to change, becoming something dark and unsettling to hear, growing faster and faster with each passing phrase. Their voices had some sort of strange power, I sensed, for the fire became wild at the turn of their rampant words. The woman to the left of me held a candle, and its tiny flame was twisting and bending to her every word, like a snake being charmed by her voice. As it danced to her song, the flames around me began to grow higher and higher, forming a great wall of fire that seemed without end.

I saw the dragon. Red as the flame, he soared effortlessly within the fire and began circling around me. I knew he was hunting me, waiting for the perfect time to strike, and when he roared, I could feel his hot breath on my face. I saw his giant claw coming down at me, a brilliant steal dagger with a golden hilt. The woman had drawn it from her cloak, but she may as well have pulled it right from the fire. I could feel the heat and steam coming off it, burning my skin.

"With this dagger," the woman said, clutching the blade tightly, "may she rise again!"

I jerked my head up and screamed, "No!" at the top of my lungs, but the fire swallowed the sound; and the dagger began to plummet towards my chest; and the dragon began to swoop down, claws extended, teeth bared, but the growl that followed came not from him but from a dark shadow beast. It barreled through the doors, running on all fours but standing as tall as a man, a giant warg, black as night with eyes like fire, and choking its neck was a silver collar with a long, heavy chain that rapped against the stone as the beast ran. It leapt right over the wall of fire and pounced onto the woman at my feet. When she fell, the book flew out of her hands, and she crashed into the candles. One by one, they all fell, and the flames washed over the floor like a tidal wave, igniting everything within reach. The glass-faced woman didn't scream when her cloak caught fire; she didn't even seem to notice it. Instead, she stared in fascination at the young boy who now stood in the doorway, clutching a battle axe in his only arm. He was huffing and puffing with fatigue, but he stood strong.

"You are a very special boy, indeed," said the woman before finally succumbing to the flames that had climbed up her arm. Retracting her blade, she backed away, screaming in agony, and became consumed by flames.

Turin ran through the fire and swung his axe at one of the burning women, taking her head right off her shoulders. Then, coming to me, he hacked at the iron chains over and over until my arms and legs were free, and then we ran out of the room together. As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the warg stalking through the flames, and then I saw the glass-faced woman staring right at me as her body turned black and burned away. Taking the dagger in her hands, she whispered a phrase I couldn't hear and then plunged the golden dagger into her own chest.

With the last of his strength, Turin pulled the door closed and barred it with the axe before slumping against the wall. His body was covered with blood, old and new, and there were scratches across his chest from his battle with the warg, but he was alive.

I knelt beside him and gently pulled him close, placing a kiss upon his forehead. "I thought you had given up."

"I said I would always rescue you, Ana," he replied, "and I will, always."

I reached for Indilwen's vial, but Turin refused it. "It's not over yet," he said to me, and he fingered the amulet hanging from my neck, stroking the ruby with his cracked and bloody fingers. "It's time to finally rid yourself of this."

"But I don't know how," I said. "I don't know what to do."

"If Frodo could do it, then so can you." He gave a weak laugh. "Well, he didn't really succeed, did he? Like many before him, he ultimately succumbed to the power of the One Ring ... depending on which version you believe, of course. But you can do it, I know you can."

"What about you?" I asked.

He smiled. "Don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere."

And so I left Turin, as he requested, and started descending the long, winding staircase that led from the high tower down to the great hall. It was an old, narrow staircase, with several of the stone steps worn away and broken. I found myself stopping many times, wondering if Turin was truly all right ... and if I would be able find the Black River and destroy the amulet, but Turin's words of confidence compelled me to move on every time; and at the bottom, I found a most unexpected visitor waiting for me. Half-wing, the mischievous little creature who had plagued my travels from the beginning, appeared to me once more. I never understood why he came to me so often, as our encounters were always so peculiar, but now it was all perfectly clear to me; and when he ran away, I knew I was supposed to follow him.

_He knows where to find the Black River_, I realized. _He's always known! _

I followed him through a dark passageway that came to its end at a high, jagged cliff just beneath the main keep and above a massive waterfall that gushed a river of silver-blue water into the pool far below, but the water was no longer clear and perfect; now it was polluted with black blood and dead orcs floated along its surface, but the victors were nowhere to be seen.

_Legolas_, I hoped, _and Elladan and Elrohir. Let them be alive!_

Further up still we climbed, traveling a narrow path that needled deep into the mountain and followed an endless stream of silver-blue water. It brought us to another beautiful waterfall but went no further. Half-wing hopped over the stream and stood on top of the rocks before the fall, letting the gentle mist shower over him, but he went no further. Five times he tapped his foot against the stone, always at the same spot, and the final time he looked right at me, so I stepped over the stream and joined him on the rocks. With his tiny black finger, Half-wing traced a large ring around himself, one that illuminated to his touch, and at the ring's center, the ground sank to reveal a strange diamond shape in the rock. Half-wing stepped away from the ring. He looked at me, and I looked at him. I knew what to do. The chain came off without a word, and I placed the amulet into the opening, and the fall opened its gates to me, drawing its waters away like a fine curtain and closing them again once I had passed through.

_There's no going back now_, I thought as I walked through the cave with Half-wing at my side. We needed no light to guide us, for the entire cavern was set aglow by a soft blue light, the light that came from the river's eerie black waters. I had seen these waters in a dream, but the real thing held no comparison. I stood upon the high cliffs and watched the waves crash against the rocks. Fingers of the condemned seized the edge only to be swept away by the current, their trapped souls forced to swim forever in a sea of torment.

_"You'll swim, too ..." _Turin had said in a dream, and I believed him still. Even as I clutched the amulet in my hand, I could see my own face among those swimming. I held out my hand, letting the amulet dangle over the edge. "It's over now." My fingers began to twitch, and the chain slipped from my fingers, falling into the empty air ...

... and landing right into a waiting hand that had been charred black and carried the foul smell of sizzling flesh.

Slowly, fearfully, Half-wing started retreating back into the shadows. Gasping, I stumbled back and stared in horror at the burned woman who now stood before me. I had seen the fire take her and believed her to be dead—the blade was still buried in her chest, for goodness sake!—but still she lived, and as she held that amulet in her hand, she let out a joyous cry.

"She has chosen me!" she murmured over and over while draping the amulet around her neck. "I can feel her inside me, filling me with her power! Yes, My Queen, I am yours to command!" As she spoke, her white eyes began to turn black, like a sickness was taking over her, and when all the white was gone, her euphoric smile was replaced with a look of innocent curiosity, like a child seeing the world for the very first time.

Valmoria had risen once more.

"The world has changed since I last saw it," she said as she gazed about the cave. "It is cold ... and dark ... and I can feel a great sickness in the air; I can feel it blackening my lungs and filling my heart with such sorrow." At this, she stared down at her chest, from which the dagger still protruded, and she grasped the hilt and drew out the blade with one smooth motion, and no blood came from the wound; it healed by itself.

She looked at me. "Have you seen what is to be?" she asked softly. "Come, I will show you."

I fell to my knees as a wave of horrid thoughts rushed through my head. I saw ships burning and dead men floating in the water. I saw dead hobbits being carried one after another and piled into a wagon like they were spoiled produce. In a bedroom, I saw my hands soaked with red, carrying a blood-stained bed sheet. On the battlefield, I saw Legolas kneeling in defeat and Turin standing over him, pointing a sword at his neck. A pair of red dragon wings sprouted from his back, and everything turned to ash.

A tear slipped down my cheek when it was all over, and I did not have the strength to rise again.

"How I weep for the future, for the innocent who will suffer. This world shall be forever marred and corrupted as long as men continue to rule. They could have all the riches in the world and still it would never be enough to satisfy their greed. Thousands of wars they will fight, and they will keep on fighting until the world is lost and everyone is dead. Middle-earth cannot be saved. It does not deserved to be saved."

I shook my head. "You're wrong," I said, finally able to stand. "I have seen horrible things, things that will haunt me until I am dead and in the ground, but I have also seen good things, beautiful things that will stay in my heart even after I am dead. This world of men may be fading, but it is not lost, not yet."

But all my confidence disappeared when she vanished right before my eyes and reappeared behind me just seconds later. Her blackened hand gripped my throat and lifted me into the air.

"Is that what you think?" she questioned, tightening her grip. I could see the burnt flesh flaking off her face as she spoke. "My dear child, you do not know what horror is, not yet. You do not know, for you have not seen all that I have seen. This world is poison—!"

Suddenly, Half-wing sprung out from the shadows and flung himself onto her face, clawing and biting without restraint. Shrieking, Valmoria released me and seized her tiny attacker with one hand, whipping him against the rocks like he was nothing more than an annoying pest, but the damage had already been done; I had ripped the amulet off her neck while she was vulnerable and now held it over the edge of the cliff.

"This world may fall," I declared, "but not by your will!" and I cast the amulet into the river with all my strength.

I don't know what I thought was going to happen after that; many thoughts crossed my mind, I suppose: that she would burst into flames or turn to ash, that she would melt away or shatter into a million pieces, or maybe she would simply fade away into nothing. I thought it would all end if I could just destroy the amulet, but it didn't; and when I looked back, she was still there, no weaker than before, and much, much angrier.

She came at me quickly, and I felt the blow of her hand before I even saw it. If I had less sense, I would have thought it was the air that had struck me so hard and blown me off the cliff. When I hit the rocks below, I feared that the spirits were going to grab me and try to pull me into the river with them. I could see the water and feel the mist on my face; and I could see their reaching hands and hear their aching moans. It was terrifying, and I just wanted them to stop, but before I could move away, Valmoria was at my back. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, she pulled my head up and forced me to look high above me, but I could not see what she could.

"Do you see your children now?" she shouted at some unseen being, and then she brought her lips to my ear and said, "He could stop this, you know. He could save you all, but He will not, and do you know why?" She put the dagger to my left cheek and pushed the blade through the skin, cutting so deep that I could taste the steel on my tongue. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed when she began to rip and tear across my face, slicing from my ear to my mouth. Finally, she withdrew the blade and pulled my head back so that she could screech into my ear, "Because He does not care about you!" and then she threw me into a wall of stone.

My face was resting in a warm puddle, and when I lifted my head, blood came pouring from my cheek, making the puddle larger. I pressed my hand tightly to my cheek, trying to stop the bleeding, and then I saw Indilwen's vial lying within arm's reach. Quickly, I grabbed the vial and poured the remaining water into my mouth, but I could not bring myself to swallow. It began trickling to the floor; from my mouth or my wound, I couldn't be sure.

"The river does not discriminate," Valmoria said as she grabbed my arm and started dragging me back towards the edge, the place I most feared to be. "Elves and men alike swim down here." She shoved my face close to the river, and a misty hand reached for me. "As will you." Pushing me onto my back, she hovered over me and said, "What, have you no more noble thoughts to share? Or did I accidentally nick your tongue while I was cutting up your pretty little face?"

I had many words for her, but my mouth was too full to speak, and so I did the only thing that came to mind: I spat all the water at her face. It was only meant to anger her, but it did much more than that. She started wailing, and the burnt flesh on her face started to sizzle and slough off like dead bark from a tree. The dagger slipped from her shaking fingers, and so I took it from the ground and drove it into her chest once more. Her wide black eyes went right to me, and she swore, "You are dooming this world to a worse fate!"

Clutching her face with her fingers, she began scratching madly at the searing flesh, pulling clumps of it away one after another, and then she fell, screaming, into her river of trapped souls. They caught her, hundreds of waiting hands, and pulled her down with them. I watched her disappear beneath the surface.

"He created this world," I was finally able to say, "but we must do our part to care for it. We have to save ourselves."

All of a sudden, a blinding white light exploded from the river, forcing me to back away and shield my eyes. When the intensity lessened, I saw the river coming alive and the spirits of thousands rising higher and higher, finally free from their watery prison. Elves and men, young and old, all were soaring; all were now free. One particular spirit, I noticed, was looking right at me, a young elven girl, no older than eight to my eyes, and she held a mischievous grin on her face. Somehow, I felt like I knew her.

"Half-wing," I finally realized, my lips breaking into a small smile, "you're a girl!"

With her tiny hand, she gave a gentle wave, and then she slowly faded away with the rest of the spirits.

I let out a sigh, the deepest, most tired sigh of my life, and dipped my fingers into the cool water, which had now returned to its natural silver-blue color. _It's finally over_, I thought, and then I looked up, seeing the long climb that awaited me, and sighed again. _This could take a while. _

Slowly, I began my climb to the top, and when I reached the last shelf of rock, I poked my head up and found Legolas waiting for me on the cliff's edge, but he seemed more surprised to see me than I was to see him. Had he come to rescue me? If so, he had missed the battle.

"You're late," I teased.

He seemed a bit taken aback by my joke, for his eyes widened with surprise, but then they softened and he smiled. "You had a head start," he replied before offering me his hand, and after pulling me to the top, he caught me by surprise when he suddenly pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in a tight embrace.

"I knew you could do it," he said just low enough for me to hear.

"That's good," I said, smiling, "because I certainly didn't." _And_ _I __feared__ I would never see you again_, I thought as I let my fingers brush against his jerkin. I had always hated his clothing, for it seemed so plain to me, but now I loved the feel of it on my fingers; and the deep scent of the forest that lingered in the fabric, I loved that smell more than anything.

We left the cave together, and he kept his hand pressed tightly to my wounded cheek. In turn, I covered his hand with mine, partially because I wanted to apply more pressure, but also because I wanted to savor his touch. I just couldn't bring myself to pull away.

When we finally made it outside, I felt something on my face that I hadn't felt in such a long time: the sun, warm and soft, sweeter than any kiss. The darkness was gone at last, and we were standing below a clear blue sky, the bluest I had ever seen. But as beautiful as it all was, this scene was far from perfect. I saw Turin lying on the ground, barely alive but desperately fighting. Elladan was doing all he could to help him, but I knew it would not be enough.

"He won't survive the journey home," I said, knowing the road back would be too long for him, and he needed immediate help.

"He will not have to," Legolas assured me. "Look!"

High in the sky, three great eagles were soaring through the air, gliding effortlessly, beautiful and majestic. _Such things shouldn't exist_, I thought. _Such things live only in stories. _But they were real, right there in front of my eyes, a sight I would surely never forget. And at that moment, I knew that He, whoever He was, did love us, and He had been watching over us the entire time, so we were never truly alone.

_And if He hasn't given up on us_, I thought,_ then I won't either. _

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><p><strong>Well, guys, there's only one chapter left to wrap everything up! Again, thanks for sticking with this story and being so patient with me. I really do appreciate it. <strong>

**Please, review!**


	22. The Return

**Well, here it is, the last chapter! I can't believe this story has already come to an end! I'd like to take the time to thank everyone for all the reviews. I really appreciate it. I know it's been slow going, and I'm not the most frequent updater, but thanks a lot for sticking with this story and being so patient. That being said, enjoy the last chapter!**

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><p><span>Chapter 22: The Return<span>

I stood with my arms wrapped around the tree trunk, ear pressed against the bark, eyes closed, mind completely open, hoping to feel the tree's heartbeat and hear its voice for the first time. For a long time, all day it seemed, I patiently stood in the garden at Rivendell, waiting and waiting for this particular tree to make a sound. Many elves came and went, whispering amongst themselves, sometimes giggling, but I refused to let them break my concentration. I was determined to hear this tree before I left. After all I had been through, after all I had seen, I believed I was ready—I knew I was ready—but the tree still denied me, leaving me with no answer but the gentle rustle of leaves in the whistling wind. Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed with myself.

With a heavy sigh, I brushed my fingers against the bark. "If I could hear you, I wonder what you would say." I frowned as doubt began to creep into my mind. "Or maybe you have nothing to say, and that is why you are so silent. After all, what could you possibly have to say to me? I'm just some strange girl who has been hugging you all morning like some silly child clinging to her mother. I probably wouldn't want to talk to me either."

"Or perhaps it has answered, but you do not realize it." Smiling, Winnie came to my side and ran her long, elegant fingers against the tree trunk, gazing up the tree with deep fondness, something I had seen only Elladan and Legolas do. Could she hear what I could not? Was the tree speaking to her? Winnie had always hated nature, so how was she able to hear what the tree so cruelly hid from me?

"You have spent only a month with the elves, and you are already speaking like them," I gently teased, but there was truth in my words. When we arrived in Rivendell, I could not even recognize Winnie amongst the elves. In such a short time, she had grown taller, standing head and shoulders above me, and developed a more womanly frame, soft and graceful. Her brown eyes, eyes we had once shared, were brighter than I had ever seen, and speckled with gold. But what struck me most was her aura. Whenever she came to me, even now, I could not take my eyes off her. We had once looked like sisters, but now we didn't even seem to share the same race.

"And you are more akin to the orcs, is that right?" Winnie threw back, laughing softly, and even her laugh was more lovely than any song I could sing.

Yes, I felt like an orc compared to her, a squat, ugly orc who was deaf to nature. While she had matured into this inhumanly beautiful creature, I seemed to have grown shorter somehow, and scrawnier, and my face was ... I did not like to think about my face compared to hers. I had once liked my face well enough to consider it one of my better features, but I could not say the same about it anymore. When I looked at my face now, I had a hard time seeing me; I just saw her—Valmoria. She had cut straight through my face with her dagger, pierced right through the flesh, splitting my cheek in two. Upon arriving in Rivendell, the elves had sewn the wound well enough, but it still left a horrible scar, one impossible to conceal. Lord Elrond had a remedy for all my scars, one that would make them nearly invisible, but I refused it because I thought of Turin. Nothing, not even the great skill of Lord Elrond, could regrow his arm, so if he could live with one arm, I could manage with a few scars, but sometimes I did regret my decision, especially when I saw my reflection. Not even my smile was the same anymore.

"Being here, living amongst the elves, it has given me a new perspective on life," Winnie said, a smile growing on her face. "I think I finally understand my place in this world. I know where I belong, and that is at home with Mother and Father. I am a lady of Erudin, and one day I shall marry a high lord and rule over his estate. My daughters will be beautiful, elegant ladies, and my sons will be powerful lords and brave knights. We can share this life together, Anariel!" She suddenly pulled me into her arms, holding me close. "We can still make this world a better place, but in our own way."

_That is your way_, I thought as I half-heartedly hugged her back, _but it is not mine. _I was not so eager to go back home, not after experiencing such a thrilling journey. I felt like a caged bird who had been allowed a taste of freedom only to be forced back into the cage. The life of a noblewoman was no life for me. I did not care for singing, dancing, or poetry; I had no interest in ruling estates, large or small, or mothering sons and daughters; I did not want to spend the rest of my days sitting behind suffocating walls of stone. I wanted to be free. I wanted to see the world and live a life of adventure; I wanted to see the mûmakil, great elephants long believed to be extinct, roaming through the Southlands; I wanted to walk with the giants in the Northlands and explore the Mines of Moria, hopefully even see a cave-troll or two; I wanted to fight wargs and ride on eagles' wings. I wanted to do it all, but I wouldn't be able to if I returned home. I wouldn't be able to do anything, but I could not say that to my sister, not as she held me so tightly.

Winnie slowly pulled away. "There is a reason I came to see you: Turin is awake. I thought you would like to know."

And suddenly my silly little problems no longer mattered. I left Winnie quickly and quite rudely, but I knew she would understand. Turin had suffered greatly in Rhûn, physically and emotionally. The elves had healed him to the best of their ability, but he would never be as he was. Turin had lost not only his arm but a bit of his spirit as well, and I feared more than anything that he would never recover. I feared I would never see the carefree smile of my foolish knight ever again.

Like the rest of Rivendell, Turin's room was a place of pure tranquility, where nature and men existed side by side without barriers. His room was without heavy wood doors or glass windows, allowing the outside to enter at its own will, and it did. With one quiet puff of wind, leaves of green and gold blanketed the floor, filling the room with a sweet aroma. All this beauty, however, went unnoticed by Turin. He had the warm sun shining on his face and a cool breeze caressing his cheek, but he seemed completely unaffected by it; if anything, he seemed disturbed by it. His bedding had been viciously torn off the mattress and strewn about the floor in a twisted heap, leaving Turin to rest upon a bare mattress, his face wrought with displeasure as he forced his eyes to look anywhere but at the short stump that was once his arm. When his eyes finally found me, he did not smile.

"So you've finally left the elves to visit your wounded friend. How kind of you." He leaned toward his bedside table and snatched a cup of water, but he did not drink. "Did they thank you, at least?" he asked. "They did not thank me. I lost my arm while fixing their little mistake, and they gave me nothing. They have such power, yet they could _do nothing!_" The cup clanged when it hit the floor, spinning and spitting water from its tin mouth.

"They saved your life, Turin. Be grateful for that."

"_Grateful? _It's because of them that I lost my arm in the first place! If they weren't so careless with their treasures, I would still have both my arms and you wouldn't have to live with all those scars!"

He pointed a finger right at my face, and I forced myself to look away. _But I chose this. _"I took the amulet, Turin. It's my fault this all happened, so if you're going to blame someone—blame me. Hate me."

His angry eyes began to fill with tears. "What am I going to do, Ana? For a moment, just a moment, I was a true hero, and now I must go back to the stables? It's not fair! I thought I would have glory. I thought songs would be sung for years to come, but nobody sings songs for stableboys, Ana. And now when I return to Erudin, I will be even less than I was—a one-armed stableboy, _a_ _crippled fool!_ ... I would rather die than go back to that!" A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"Then don't," I said, struggling to push out the words I didn't want to say because I didn't want to lose Turin, but I didn't want him to suffer either, not for me. I sat down beside him, hoping it would give me strength. "Leave if you want, go live a life of adventure like you've always wanted. I won't stop you."

"But what about you?"

I shook my head. "I can't go, Turin. Winnie ... she needs me still, and I am a lady of Erudin. My place is at home." _I will have no more adventures. _

"Then I can't go either."

My jaw fell. "What? Why?"

He smiled that perfect, carefree smile that I feared to be gone forever. "How can I enjoy freedom when you're still locked in a cage?" He reached for my hand and stared deliberately into my eyes. "We may not share blood, Ana, but you are my family. I will go wherever you go; and if I must return to the stables, I will be glad to serve you for as long as I live."

Wordless, I flung myself at Turin and hugged him tightly as I whispered into his ear, "You will always be a knight to me."

He held me closer, and we stayed like that for a while, until the elves came to observe his healing progress. While they tended to him, I strolled around Lord Elrond's great house, taking it all in one last time. I was not seeking out the library, but my legs seemed to find it on their own, and I could not bring myself to leave. Of all the rooms I'd passed through, this was by far the most amazing, not because of the beautiful vine-like arches or lofty stone columns, not because of the intricate stone carvings or the breathtaking mosaic painted on the vaulted ceiling—because it was filled with wall-to-wall bookcases containing all the history and lore of Middle-earth ... and all the secrets of the elves, I hoped. I scrolled through the titles one after another, puzzling over the meaning behind the strange markings I could not read. The most precious treasures were right at my fingertips, but they would never be anything more than foreign words on a paper. It was absolutely heart-breaking.

"You would need an eternity to read all these books." Elladan leaned over the second-level railing and smiled down at me. "Even I have not accomplished this."

I frowned deeply. "I wish I understood the words."

"I could teach you," he offered.

"In a day?"

He chuckled. "If there was ever a way to do that, Anariel, I believe you would find it."

His compliment made me smile. "I will miss you, Elladan. For as long as I live, I shall never forget this."

"Nor will I."

It was hard for me to accept that I would never see the elves again, people I had grown so close to in such a short period of time. Who would answer all my questions and give me advice, if not Elladan? Who but Elrohir would push me to keep fighting when at my lowest point? And who else would puzzle my mind and heart like Legolas? I needed them still, but soon they would leave my life forever.

"Is it beautiful there, in Aman?" I asked.

"Yes. Peaceful and ever-green."

I hadn't the heart to hear him go on because I didn't want to visualize the paradise I would never know, or think about what Middle-earth would become in their absence. They would return to an ever-green paradise, and we would fall into a cold, dark wasteland. If only time could have stopped now, as I walked through the garden, surrounded by the sculpted history of Rivendell, with names and faces I knew only in stories. Here, the world felt at peace, and I felt like the wide-eyed girl who was mystified by it all. Not far from me was the bench I once shared with Indilwen, where I felt so frightened and unsure of myself. Further from there was the porch where I fell to my knees in front of Lord Elrond and later volunteered to become the amulet's keeper. It was also the place where I first saw Legolas and mistook him for a lowly hunter. What a fool I was to mistake a prince for a hunter.

I don't remember climbing up the tree, but I felt at home sitting upon the branches. Part of me wished to stay up there forever, to live in the trees like the elves in Lothlórien and watch the leaves change colors with the passing seasons. I would have liked that very much, to sleep beneath the night sky and wake to the morning sun; gold, like the soft leaves that sheltered me. When one was stolen by the wind, I tried to save it, but it slipped through my fingers and floated to the ground, landing beside a dirty leather boot. Why, I would have thought he had gone trekking through the mudlands by the sight of them. Those boots certainly did not pair well with the fine grey tunic he was wearing. A prince by birth, but a hunter at heart.

I hid behind the branches, wondering if he had sensed my presence. He must have, but he would never intrude upon me without invitation; he was much too polite for that. But I lacked the courage to go down to him, for I had not seen him since we arrived in Rivendell—or more correctly, he had not seen me. Like a coward, I had been hiding myself from him out of shame and embarrassment. Whenever our paths crossed, I would duck away and scurry off like a little rat, and for what—this fear that he would find me hideous? In my heart, I knew he would not care about such a silly thing, but still, the fear remained.

"Spying away again, are you?" I hadn't even felt Elrohir's presence until he spoke. He moved more quietly than the wind. "Haven't we discussed the dangers of spying, or must we revisit our lesson?" He grinned as my face turned red. "Tell me, little spy, what secrets does he hold?"

I stole a glance at Legolas, who yet again appeared to be lost in his thoughts. Where was his mind always drifting off to? Back to Aman? Was he so eager to return there? "I may never know, Elrohir." _And I don't think I want to. _

"Will you not ask him?" he asked, as if he knew the question troubling my mind.

"I can't. I'm afraid I won't like the answer."

"And so you will avoid him out of fear? I don't understand, Anariel. You are a warrior now, and you even have the battle scars to prove it." Chuckling, he gave my scarred cheek a gentle nudge with his fist, deeming it a badge of great honor. "You had the strength to defeat Valmoria and destroy the amulet, but you're too much a coward to speak to him?"

"I'm not a coward!" I shot back. "I will speak to him in time, when I am ready. It's best not to force these things, Elrohir."

The elf nodded his head. "Yes, a ship has sails to go its own course, ... but sometimes it needs a little push." His arm went to my shoulder, and he pushed me out of the tree like I was a little gold leaf being plucked from the branch. Thankfully, it was not a long fall and I was unhurt, but that did not make me any less angry at the meddlesome elf.

I landed on the ground beside the fallen gold leaf and leather boot. When I looked up, Legolas was staring down at me with a curious look in his eyes, wondering what I was doing in that tree, no doubt. "Are you all right?" he asked. "How did you fall?"

"I didn't." I rose with a jump and pointed toward the tree. "Elrohir, he ... he ..." The tree was completely elf-less, and I looked like a fool yet again. My shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "I fell. I was trying to ... catch the leaves."

"I see," he said, trying to fight the smirk that was crawling up his face, and then he snatched the golden leaf from the ground and held it out to me. "Well, here."

I knew he was teasing, but I took the leaf anyway. "Yes, that's just what I was looking for. Thank you."

An awkward silence fell upon us then, forcing us to engage in a staring war. He was doing this on purpose, I knew, waiting for me surrender the truth, but I was not going to give in so easily. Seconds passed, and the leaf was beginning to tickle my hand, and Legolas refused to break his gaze for even a moment, but that long-hidden smirk had finally emerged. He knew he was going to win.

Finally, the leaf's tickling became too much, and I started to laugh. "I am not a good liar, am I?"

"The worst I have seen," he replied bluntly, but there was smile on his face.

I smugly crossed my arms over my chest. "And I suppose you're a superior liar, then."

He shrugged and proudly answered, "Well, I do not need to lie."

"No, I suppose you don't." _And I believe he never would. I could ask him anything, and he would be completely honest ... and that frightens me. _

When I returned my attention to him, I found his eyes traveling across my face, inching dangerously close to the scar I didn't want him to see. Without warning, a surge of self-consciousness shot through me, forcing me to turn away from him, but he gently caught my chin and pulled me back.

"Never turn away," he said, and then he turned my face, fully displaying my scarred cheek, and ran his thumb over the rough, raised flesh. "You should be proud of it."

My face set fire, and I was without words. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to say, but I could not move my lips to speak, not while he was so close to me, and I would have gladly given up all my words just to keep him near, but much to my dismay, he began to pull away.

"I have something for you," he went on, his eyes shimmering with a mysterious excitement. "A small gift of thanks ... and goodbye, I suppose. Please, wait here."

_Goodbye_, I sadly thought as he left, and I found myself muttering, "Don't leave." I felt so silly standing there and talking to myself, but I could not make myself stop. "Stay," I said. "Things would be so much better if you just stayed ... Oh, but why would he want to stay? His home is a paradise where all is green and beautiful ... For me? No, certainly not for me, and it would be selfish of me to ask him to stay—even though I want it very, very much."

"Middle-earth is finally at peace, but still your thoughts are troubled." Indilwen, sister of Thranduil, emerged from the garden like a fine statue come to life. "Do you ever put your mind to rest?"

"But Middle-earth is not at peace," I told her. "I have saved nothing. All the good, and all the beauty, it will be disappear with you, and this world will become dark ... and cold ... and cruel." I thought of the Wood of Greenleaves, knowing the green trees would return to their slumber once the elves left Middle-earth, and the forest would fall back into the shadows. "It isn't fair!" I cried, fighting back tears. "I saw a glimpse of what this world once was, and it was incredible, but it will fade as sure as the sun will set."

Indilwen placed a soft hand upon my shoulder. "But the sun will rise again, will it not? I know it is hard to accept, Anariel, but you must understand that we cannot stay in Middle-earth. Our time here has long passed. Middle-earth no longer needs the elves."

"But we do! Now more than ever!"

She shook her head. "I am sorry, Anariel, but our place is not in Middle-earth. We must exist apart from it. You will understand in time."

_No, I won't_, I would have said if she had stayed long enough to hear the words from my mouth. Soon, all this would be no more than a dream, a fleeting moment of happiness, like a shooting star in the sky, and I could only close my eyes and savor the memories. I had soared the skies on an eagle's wings and witnessed the power of a thousand souls finally finding freedom; I had hiked through the Wood of Greenleaves and stood within King Thranduil's great halls; I had climbed the High Pass and spent the night in a cold dungeon; I had met hobbits and fought orcs—and I had shot a bow for the first time! I could still remember the smoothness of the wood and powerful twang of the bowstring; it felt so perfect in my hands, a feeling I would never know again.

... or perhaps I was wrong, for when I opened my eyes, I saw a stunning white bow with hand-carved vines sprouting throughout the lower and upper limbs. It was so perfect, I dared not touch it out of fear that my nails would scratch the polished surface.

"One of my father's greatest hobbies is bow making," Legolas explained, "a skill he passed to his children. Please, take it."

My hands were shaking when I took it from him, and I was afraid I would drop it, but I could not stop the smile from taking over my face. I would have been happy just to hold it, but that was not what Legolas intended for me, for he also brought a quiver full of arrows fletched with white swan feathers.

"How does it feel?" he asked as I raised the bow and aimed at a nearby tree.

"It's so light."

"Even you will be able to draw it."

I lowered the bow. "Thank you. Really, you have no idea how much this means to me."

"I think I understand," he said, and for a moment, it seemed like he had something more to say; I could see it in his eyes—a slight hesitation—but when he spoke again, he did not share the secret he hid behind his blue eyes; instead, he said, "Be sure to practice."

I tried not to sound too disappointed. "Yes, of course."

Unfortunately, I never did find out what he had meant to say that day. To this day, I still wonder about it. On the day of our departure, Legolas was unusually formal and distant when we said our goodbyes. He thanked me for all I had done, wished me well, and that was it. Why, I had received a warmer goodbye from Calanon, who had once tried to run me down with his wolf. I did not expect such cold treatment from Legolas, not after what we had been through. I thought I had done something wrong.

Elladan and Elrohir more than made up for his ill-mannered behavior, though. They hugged me tightly and made me promise never to forget them—Elrohir outright demanded it, threatening to sail back to Middle-earth and beat me over the head until the memory came back. He had no need for such measures, of course, though I would have loved to see him again.

Turin didn't have much to say to the elves. He seemed to have stolen a page from Legolas's book of improper social etiquette. They certainly deserved more than a mumbled goodbye from the boy, especially since they had saved his life, but Turin had always been stubborn, even as a child. He was friendly with Elrohir at least, saying he would have liked to spar with the elf once last time. In return, Elrohir promised the challenge would remain open whenever Turin was "ready to lose." Those two truly got along better than they cared to admit.

Together again, the Three Great Warriors of Erudin began their long journey home. Winnie had been given a horse from the elves, a horse she had grown fond of during her stay, and Turin and I rode Faelon. Turin had a hard time handling the reins and keeping his balance, but with me supporting him from behind, he was able to ride more smoothly while still maintaining control he so longed to keep.

We spent our days riding, and at night we would camp under the stars and dream about what awaited us in Erudin. Winnie longed to be reunited with our parents and show them how much she'd grown. Beside the fire, she would recite poetry and sing the songs Mother had taught her, but Turin did not want to hear songs. While Winnie sang, Turin spoke of grand parades and week-long feasts held in our honor. "And Lord Authion will grant me a place among his personal guard," he quietly wished, "and think of me as a son." I probably was not supposed to hear all that, and I wished I hadn't because I knew his wishes would never come true, none of them. The kingdom knew nothing of Valmoria or her plague, and so we would not receive a hero's welcome home.

Passing travelers had much to say about the strange plague that had fallen upon the kingdom, and they often shared their stories over a communal fire and meal. On the Great East Road, we met a bard who had many songs to sing about the suffering of the peasants. One night, he said, an entire village went mad and started ripping each other to pieces. Fearing for his own life, the ruling lord sent his guard to slaughter all the villagers, mad or not, and the village was burned to the ground. The nobles said it was hunger that had driven them mad, but I knew better. They had eaten the black fish, just like the orcs had, and now they were dead because of it. But the nobles remained safe in their castles, and that was all that mattered.

Erudin was in shambles when we arrived; most of the village had been destroyed during the orc attack, reducing the main square to a great pile of ash and rubble. I saw orphaned children wandering the streets, crying for their mothers, who would never answer. I saw the baker weeping over a pile of wood that was once his shop. I saw farmers struggling to sell their produce, but nobody had even a copper to spare.

The gatehouse of the Grey Keep had never been heavily manned, and not once had I ever seen the portcullis lowered, but now it was rare to see it lifted. We were able to pass through only because of our lord father, but the hungry peasants in our trail were coldly turned away, and the portcullis was promptly dropped.

For Winnie and me, our return was met with heart-felt welcomes. Mother and Father ran to us at once and showered us both with hugs and kisses. Shedding the first tears I'd seen from her, Mother thanked all the gods she'd never prayed to for returning her darling girls. For the first time, I felt her love.

As for Turin, he received nothing, not even the thank you he deserved for protecting us as well as he had. His sole acknowledgement came when Mother said in passing, "Take the horses back to the stables," and Turin did as his lady bid. Forgetting all his hopes for glory, Turin led the horses back the stables, ignoring the guards' cruel taunts that dubbed him the "One-Armed Knight."

There was a harsh reality that we all had to accept now: we had changed, but the rest of the Middle-earth had not. Turin was still a stableboy; I was still a lady; and there was still a debt to be paid. I nearly broke down crying when Mother delivered the news to me, and I begged her to reconsider—I could not marry Beinion—but she refused, saying that we needed to secure this alliance in order to rebuild Erudin; and so, just as I feared, I was right back where I started.

"Piss on their promises!" Turin shouted as he stomped around my room. It was a challenge for him to climb up to my window as he used to, and he nearly fell upon nearing the top, but I was able to help him through. He had fresh bruises on his face, and with every breath he winced a little, but he assured me that he was fine and that his opponent looked even worse. "They cannot force you to marry him again!"

"But they can." I could already feel the invisible ring tightening around my finger. "And they are."

"He will be cruel to you, Ana, worse than before—you know it as well as I! He will beat you and rape you ... and he will _put his baby in you! _You will be a prisoner, Ana!"

I sat down on my bed. "I should have killed him," I whispered to myself, cursing my kind heart that had allowed him to live. "I should have killed him. Why didn't I kill him?"

Turin dropped to his knees in front of me. "We must leave," he said in a pleading voice. "I will not see you suffer. Please, Ana." I don't remember agreeing, but he suddenly took my hand and led me toward the window. "I will get Faelon, and we'll escape out the back gate and leave this place forever." His words were muffled by the loud beating of my heart, but I saw him climb out the window.

I stood there for a long time just staring at my finger. A ring had once coiled around it like a snake, squeezing and squeezing until I could no longer remove it, but Legolas had pulled it off so easily, and for the first time, I felt free ...

A thought struck me, and I rushed to the trunk at the foot of my bed and pulled it open. Nestled inside, hidden between a pile of old dresses, was the bow and quiver Legolas had given me. Mother had ordered me to throw them away, but I couldn't, so I hid them away and took them out only in the dark of night when I was completely alone. Holding the bow in my hands, it brought me back to a time when I felt strong, ... and it made me think of him. He was likely traveling to the harbor now, where he would board a great ship and sail to the Undying Lands, leaving me forever.

But he wasn't gone yet.

I heard Father's voice behind me, deep as a drum. "A bow as fine as that should not be hidden away. May I see it?" I handed the bow to him, and he looked it over with delicate hands and careful eyes. "It is very well made."

"An elf's work."

"Of course." He smiled to himself, remembering his own encounter with the elves. "They are truly a mystery."

"They are." _A mystery I long to solve. _

He returned the bow to me and let out a deep sigh. "I still remember the day you were born, you know. A boy was what I was hoping for, to be honest, a boy, strong and brave. I wanted to take him on all my adventures and show him the world as I had seen it. When I heard that I'd been given a daughter, I was prepared to give up those dreams, but when I looked into your eyes for the first time, I knew that I would be giving up nothing. You were exactly what I had hoped for, Anariel, but this is not the life I'd planned for you." He looked toward the open door. "Now, I cannot tell you what to do, but I will say this: for the next ten minutes, the back gate will be open."

My eyes widened. "You're letting me go?"

He smiled. "I am leaving the door open. The choice is yours."

I took the quiver from the trunk and grabbed my cloak. "You must explain this to Winnie," I said. Winnie was sitting with Mother in the garden, as she often did when the weather was warm. "She will not understand why I left." _Forgive me, Winnie. _

"I will tell her. Now, you'd best hurry before Turin rides off without you."

I hugged him around the waist. "Thank you, Father."

Just as promised, the back gate was unguarded and would remain so for the next few minutes. Turin was waiting beside Faelon in front of the gatehouse, and he looked surprised to see me walking toward him. "I didn't think you would come," he said, his mouth agape.

I smiled. "Warriors to the end, right?"

He laughed. "And warriors we will be." I climbed onto Faelon first and then offered my hand to Turin. "So where are we going?" he asked as he settled into the saddle and took the reins.

I didn't even need to think about it. "The Grey Havens."

"Why the Grey Havens?" He didn't give me time to answer. "Because you want to see the elf," he grumbled. "Ana, why do you obsess over him so? – Because he is the elf from the Fellowship."

I shook my head. "No, they are two completely different people. The elf from the Fellowship is just a character in a story, but Legolas, he is real, and ... I want to see him one last time."

He sighed. "It is a long way to the harbor, you know. We may not make it."

"But we will try."

He gave the horse a kick with his heels. "As you wish."

The road to the Grey Havens was indeed long, almost a five days' ride. I fully expected the ships to be gone by the time we finally reached the harbor, so I was most astonished when my first sight was two elves walking down the road. Elladan and Elrohir, the two most unpredictable elves I had ever met, were surprising me once again.

I jumped off Faelon and landed hard on my feet "You're leaving the harbor. Why?"

Elladan smiled gently. "We made the mistake of leaving once. We could not make that mistake a second time."

Elrohir tousled my hair with a light hand. "Besides, this place is full of such excitement and adventure; I'm not ready to leave it yet." He inhaled the fresh ocean air and smiled, perfectly content. "Yes, this is home."

"Then the ship has already sailed?" I assumed, fearing the worst. I was too late.

"They were still preparing to board when we left," Elrohir said, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. There was still time. "If you hurry, you can still make it. Quickly, go!"

Without another word, I took off running toward the harbor. I had dreamed of seeing this place for years, to watch the white ships sail away and disappear beyond the horizon. For so long, I wanted to step onto one of those ships and travel beyond the borders of this world, but now all I wanted to do was stop it from sailing.

The white gulls had come to see the elves off as well. Hundreds of them had flocked to the harbor, circling around the high towers of the long-abandoned elf city and flapping toward the setting sun, flying the same path the great ships would soon follow. The ships themselves were as graceful as birds, with sails colored white and figureheads in the shape of a swan. One of those beautiful ships was already leaving the dock, but one still remained, and I saw the elves starting to board, Legolas among them, along with his king father. He would be the last to board, I knew, but he was moving slowly, as if he had seen me from miles away and was waiting for me. Still, when I did reach him, he was kind enough to at least pretend to be surprised.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was happy to see me or not. I hoped he was because I was glad to see him. I was glad to have made it in time.

"I ... I ..." I placed my hands on my knees, panting from exhaustion. "I wanted to see the ships, and ... I wanted to see you." Now, he was truly surprised. Taking a deep, calming breath, I stood tall and conjured the courage to say what was in my heart. "I don't regret it, you know, taking the amulet—I know that sounds terrible, but I mean it. I'm glad I took it because it brought me on the greatest adventure of my life! I have seen things that most people can only dream about. If I hadn't taken the amulet, I wouldn't have found the strength to free myself ... and ... I wouldn't have met you. I think I'm most grateful for that."

When I was finished, I lowered my eyes to the ground, too nervous to look at him. _You can leave now_, I thought despite myself, but then I felt his hand beneath my chin, gently pulling my eyes to his; and in his eyes, I found a startling emotion; it might not have been love or anything close to it, but it was a deep affection that went far beyond my comprehension and made my heart pound.

He placed a single lingering kiss on my forehead, and then he pulled away and smiled. "I must leave now."

I nodded my head. "I know."

I watched from the dock as the ship raised its anchor, and the white sails filled with the strong western winds, and the ship glided through the blue water as if it were floating on top of it. Despite my sadness, I found myself smiling. "I will become a great markswoman!" I shouted, knowing he could still hear despite the great distance between us. "Better than you even!" I started laughing. _Yes, better than you, Legolas._

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned around to find Turin smiling at me. "It's time to go, Ana."

I smiled back. "Yes, it is, Turin."

"And where will we go?" he asked as the four of us walked down the road together.

"Wherever we want," I answered. The world was without limits now, a vast and mysterious land just waiting to be explored.

"Moria," Turin said. "I would like to see Moria."

"You would get lost in such a place," Elrohir interrupted. "Without an elf's eyes to guide your way, you would end up a feast for the cave-trolls."

Turin shoved him away. "I can do anything an elf can do."

"Oh, really?" Elrohir challenged. "Try clapping."

Shouting obscenities, a red-faced Turin started chasing the snickering elf down the road. "I will rip both your arms off!" he threatened, and the elf never slowed his pace.

Falling back, I glanced over my shoulder and watched the sun disappear beneath the horizon. For a moment, just a moment, I thought I could see the black speck that was his ship, but that too soon disappeared. _Perhaps I will see him again one day_, I hoped, _but until then there are many adventures to be had._

THE END

* * *

><p><strong>And so ends the first part of the story, which means, of course, there will be a sequel! There are way too many unresolved conflicts for this story to end now. The fun is just getting started. Really, I just wanted this story to act as an introduction to this new Middle-earth and most of the main characters. Of course, there were be plenty of new characters in the sequel, and they won't all be friendly. <strong>

**To prepare for the sequel, I'll share a brief introduction: **

It has been five years since Valmoria's defeat, but Middle-earth has still not found peace. The tyranny of men has persisted for too long, and now the time has come for them to reap what they have sown. A secret organization plots to dismantle the monarchy and bring Middle-earth into a new age. A great war is about to start, and Anariel finds herself caught in the middle of it all.

**Well, that's it, guys! Thanks for checking out this story! Once I finish the last chapter of my other story, I will start on the sequel, so get ready for that!**

**Lastly, since it's the end, it would be really awesome if everyone reviewed. I know it might not seem like it (since my updates were so infrequent), but I did work really hard on this story. I hope you guys enjoyed it because I enjoyed writing it.**

**Until next time!**

**Update as of June 23, 2013****:**** I have started the sequel, so be sure to check that out!**


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